I Go Back
by Vcorrigan
Summary: A very familiar French boy has returned, turning Kyle's world upside down. What will ensue from Christophe's return? Pairing ChristopheKyle COMPLETE
1. Prologue

**Warnings** (for this 'chapter'): Mild _Donnie Darko_ spoilers, mild fluff (at the very end), course language

**A/N**: VC has decided to get off her ass and write something after a year, wow. First SP fic, though, and I'm starting off with a Christophe/Kyle one. It was going to be a one-shot, but as you can see the prologue became a bit…long and that wasn't working out. So I'm going to have to cut it up into sections. Basically it's based off of the song "I Go Back" by Kenny Chesney, or the actual chapters will be. There may be a few interlude chapters to move it along some and flavour it, depends. I'm going to try and keep the sugar sweetness down as to not give you guys diabetes, but there's only so much a girl can do xP

This part was written just to kick it off and introduce Christophe back. I would've cut some of it out but it actually is all needed in full later on xD; So sorry about that.

Oh! French/English glossary is found at the very bottom, and will be there on each chapter. Also the "th" sound when Christophe speaks is replaced with "z" and the "h" is dropped. That's the best I could do to create an accent in text, it's hard enough getting the nasal sound when speaking French xP Okay, that's everything I need to mention, so enjoy.

* * *

The sun was unbearably bright against the white snow that had fallen across the mountain town of South Park the night before, making the morning air frigid. Kyle muttered obscenities under his breath as he walked toward the bus stop, rubbing his gloved hands together in a desperate attempt for warmth. It was days like this he wished he had a car, or Stan hadn't had his license revoked after totaling his own.

"Kyle, dude, what's up?" came the familiar voice of his very best friend, Stan. Kyle looked up, smiling, and ran the remaining few yards to the raven-haired boy. He waved at Kenny, whom had his hood securely around his face, fighting off the cold. The boy nodded his acknowledgement, but said nothing, blue eyes sparkling dangerously. Or rather, with warning.

"Not much, freezing my balls off, you know, the usual," Kyle said, gaining a slight chuckle from Kenny.

"Did I hear Kyle say he has _balls_? Fags and Jews, we've got a liar."

Kyle ground his teeth as the sing-song croon of Cartman erupted from behind him. After all of the years, Cartman never got tired of ragging on Kyle, which irritated the Jewish boy beyond all reason.

"Shut up, fatass!"

Cartman just smirked, eyes flashing. "I ain't fat, you goddamn short, gay, Jew."

Green fist curled in anger. While the others continued growing, Kyle had a spurt around the seventh grade and stopped, making him the shortest of the group. Short, and scrawny was what he had become.

"Hey, knock it off dude," Stan said defensively, putting a hand on Kyle's shoulder and squeezing.

"Kyle's wittle boyfriend coming to his rescue?" Cartman asked. Kenny, knowing his part in the everyday occurrence, punched the larger boy in the arm, causing him to yelp. "Goddamnit Kenny, right where the bruise is! That's a bad Kenny, a _bad_ Kenny!"

They all saw it, Kenny's eyes narrow and flash, indicating he was going to explain just how "bad" he could be, but thankfully the bus pulled up. Sighing Stan and Kyle got on first, glad that they didn't have to hear another of Kenny's sex stories.

They all sat in their regular seats, Cartman with a seat to himself, Kyle and Kenny with each other, Stan taking a seat next to Wendy in the isle so he could talk to Kyle. It was the eighth grade the two had officially hooked up again, at the formal dance held for the graduating class. Ever since they were all over each other, pricking on Kyle's nerves, and his heart. They _all_ knew he had formed a crush on Stan, but being too sheepish and shy Kyle had never acted on those emotions, except admitting it to Stan. Stan was a little distraught, but he just smiled, and everything went back to normal. It was South Park after all.

"So dude, you going to do powder puff this year?" Stan asked, hand idly tracing Wendy's thigh.

'_Ah, so that was Kenny's warning,'_ he thought as he glanced at the blonde, who grinned under the hood and turned back to watch the window. Every year since they were freshmen, Stan had been urging Kyle to do powder puff for their last year. Kyle had declined. Every year. Everyday up until homecoming week when try outs were over, which made two more weeks of long suffering.

"I don't know dude, I just can't see myself out their with pom poms, and I doubt my mom would let me."

Cartman's voice crooned from behind. "You, Jew-boy, have a sandy little vagina so you'd have to be one of the football players, and we all know how much you suck at football," he took a breath, "and you're mom's such a fuckin' bitch."

And the morning arguing commenced once more, a collective sigh rolling over the kids on the bus.

---

Forth period, AP English, Kyle's favourite class. The teacher, Ms. Arzillo, was eccentric and spouted literature whenever she got the chance. Her lessons weren't boring, and she made sure the kids got involved in the work. Being a Friday was even better. She would go around the room (volunteers or victims) and play a quick tune on her piano, while you had to make something interesting up until she stopped, and then another person would pick it up. Most of the kids found it to be entertaining and threw in rather personal things, or alluded to them.

The best thing about the class on Friday's like this, though, was the fact Kenny was there to lighten everything up, and set the story/poem/song in the gutter, which everyone enjoyed. Ms. Arzillo favoured Kenny as her favourite, and being young enough, several rumours had spread that they had "done the deed". When asked Kenny would just smile, but Kyle knew he wouldn't have sex with a teacher, no matter how slutty he could be.

Ms. Arzillo finished up attendance and settled on the edge of her desk, blonde curls and rather large breast bouncing as she did. "Now class, before we start our oh-so-lovely game, I must introduce to you another victim of our foul play!" she said, clapping her hands together in a dramatic manner. "Christophe darling, come in and let yourself shine."

The door opened and a tall boy shuffled into the room, looking at the ground. Messy brown locks fell into chocolate eyes surrounded by dark circles that seemed natural. His black shirt was rolled up to the elbows, revealing tanned arms and hands covered in black gloves without fingers. He scuffed the toe of his boot on the tile, and placed his hands into the pockets of brown-cameo pants.

"Christophe comes from France, isn't that right?"

"Yes ma'am."

Kyle sat in shock as the boy lifted his head, scanning the crowd, hard stare resting on Kyle. A coy smile played across the oh-so familiar new student's lips.

"Close your mouth, you fag," Cartman whispered from behind, making Kyle blush profusely as he closed his mouth to keep from gaping.

"And you speak quite a bit of French, correct?"

Christophe lowered his head once more and rolled his eyes before replying, "_Oui madame, je suis parle français. As-tu perdu l'esprit? J'ai habit en France, porqoui je ne parle pas français? Pétasse…_"

The girls let out a collective sigh as the purring French accent filled the room. Kyle swallowed, hard. Christophe had such a nice voice, light and smug, and the accent sounded so much better speaking fluent French than English. It seemed to fit the mercenary perfectly, the dark demenor and cute smile that seemed to be directed at him. Wait…did he just think 'ze Mole Christophe' had a cute smile? He buried his face in his hands, face turning scarlet.

Ms. Arzillo continued assaulting the French boy to speak in his native tongue. Kyle found himself enthralled, along with every other girl in the class. Only being smacked on the head by a paper ball kept himself from sighing contently at Christophe's unintelligible words. He glanced around, catching Kenny's eye and knowing who had sent the note.

_You keep watching Christophe like he's Stan in leather and pole-dancing. What's up, do you know him or something?_

Kyle nodded once, and Kenny mouthed, "From where?" He scrawled on the piece of paper _"From the war, he was the guy that I told you about that died in my arms, Ze Mole" _and sent it flying back across the room.

"Why don't you take a seat by Mr. Broflovski? Kyle, raise your hand."

He raised his hand slowly as the blush crept up his face once more. Why did that kid—what's his face—have to move and leave an empty seat? Christophe glided through the other kids easily and settled into his desk, dropping his bag at his feet. He leaned on his elbow, watching the flushing Kyle from the corner of his eye, amused.

Ms. Arzillo took a seat at her piano, hands flying over the keys expertly and a wash of cheery music played. "Let's begin our game…hmm, Wendy, you first."

Wendy smiled shyly, thinking as she found the right beat and sung with the music. "Stan is super nice, he kisses me in the halls."

"Eric, your turn."

"Unfortunately for you, Kyle licks his balls."

Kyle turned, glaring. "I'm warning you, fatass!"

"Kyle, wait your turn!" Ms. Arzillo chided. "Tweek, you now."

"Oh..god, um…Too bad it isn't true, and, um, the pressure, oh _god!_"

"Kenny."

"You can't blame the Jew, for trying to woo."

"Christophe."

"A boy like ze Mole, since 'e's 'ot for you."

Kyle stared at Christophe's unconcerned look, mouth agape again. _'Did he just say he's hot for me? Oh my god!_

"Butters."

"W-well that would make him gay and uh," the blonde looked around, "Kenny will save the day."

"Bebe."

"By roughing Kyle up, and giving him a pity fuck."

"Kyle."

"Kenny's just my friend, so I'm calling this the goddamn end."

Ms. Arzillo turned in her chair, smiling. "Well then, shall we do another?"

Kyle glared, voice filled with anger. "No! Every time it will end up with me screwing some guy, or loving some guy, or masturbating to some guy's image because of Cartman!" The class turned to face him, amazed at his outburst. Kyle was surprised as well, usually he took the gay jokes without flinching, but today was different…because of Christophe.

"Ay! Don't be such a gaping vagina about it. Ever think that maybe if you had a girlfriend or something we wouldn't call you gay, assmaster?"

"Cartman damnit, I can't take this from you anymore!" Kyle snarled, standing abruptly, chair squealing on the tile. He turned, angry glare directed at Eric. "You wanna continue your game, fatboy? Fine! I don't have to listen to it though." He stormed out, slamming the door shut with one final curse.

The class sat in stunned silence before Cartman muttered, "Goddamn Jew needs to fix that uterus problem of his."

"W-well you can insult but eventually a kid breaks," Butters said.

"Oh shut up Butters, he's taken it since kindergarten, why suddenly lash out?" Eric turned his attention to the new student, sprawled out across the desk. "I think it's 'cause of this British piece of crap…wait, wait! I've said that before, you're that asshole from the war aren't you, the Mole or whatever?"

"I see you've lost zat shocking device, yes?" was the muffled reply.

"If you're the Mole, than does that mean you're hot for Kyle like you said in the game?" Wendy asked, twirling her hair in her fingers.

Christophe glanced up from the desk to Ms. Arzillo, finding that the teacher was pensive and curious as well. He sighed, '_Stupid American beetches.'_ "It was what I zought of first zat would make et interesting. Et is not like Kenneth 'as given Broflovski a pity fuck, yes?"

"You never know, Kenny's a slut after all," muttered Craig, receiving a bubbly laugh from the accused.

"You still haven't denied it, so are you hot for Jew-boy or not, Frenchy?"

Christophe turned to look at the apprehensive Eric, considering his choices. If he said yes, he would most likely be avoided by the irritating fat boy, along with Kyle if he ever found out (which he would, with teenage rumours). But if he said no, than he would be chased by the girls wanting to here sweet romantic French.

The choice was obvious.

"Well, I wouldn't say I want to jump 'im but—"

"Oh god, what the Hell is today, fag-fest?" Cartman yelled, rolling his eyes as the rest of the class went to whispering and giggling. "What is it about Jew-boy that people even like?"

"He's pretty in a feminine way, and has a nice ass," Kenny said blandly, receiving a simple, "hell yes" from Bebe.

"Goddamnit Kenny…I hate you so much," Cartman said, shaking his head disapprovingly. Ignoring the finger from the blonde, he set his scrutiny on Christophe. "If you like him so much, why don't you go find Jew-boy and lick his goddamn pussy so he gets better?"

Christophe shrugged, dark eyes finding Ms. Arzillo's green ones in calm waiting. "Madam, may I go talk some sense into Broflovski?"

She smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth. "Please do, dear."

Nodding his head in thanks he walked toward the door, chuckling at the comments whispered behind him.

"How romantic," from Wendy.

"How _gay_ you mean," from Cartman, and a slew of others that were blocked out by the door closing.

He found the redhead sitting on the floor opposite of the lockers outside of the door, hands wringing his hat angrily. Auburn curls fell around his face, hiding his eyes. Shrugging it off Christophe slid down the wall to sit beside him. Kyle's breath hitched, feeling the warmth of a body beside him, and the warmth of embarrassment across his face.

"Your friends worry," came the heavily accented voice after a long silence. "Zey cannot figure reason for your outburst."

Kyle clenched his hat, knuckles turning white; if the other noticed he failed to mention it. _'Yeah, I wish I had a firm grasp on why I did as well_._'_ Instead of answering he shrugged, continuing to look at the ground. If the Mole knew he was _blushing_, Kyle might have died. Only when a discerning 'clink' broke the tension did he look up, to see Christophe with a cigarette in his mouth, playing with an antique lighter.

"Y-you can't smoke in school!" he stammered, looking horrified and thoroughly disgusted.

Christophe glanced at him, flipping the top of the lighter off, than on, off, and on. "I am, are I not?"

"You're not supposed to, and anyway, it'll reduce your life expectancy!" He shied away, nose wrinkling at the smell of tobacco.

"My line of work reduces life expectancy. Anyway," he waved his hand, "I 'aven't 'ad a smoke since zis morning."

"Can't you at least wait until lunch when you can go outside and do it? Class doesn't have that much time to go until it's over."

"No, I don't zink I can wait," Christophe replied blandly, taking a drag on the cigarette and exhaling through his nose. Scowling Kyle snatched it from his mouth, putting it out between the toes of his shoes, saving the tile from any more abuse. Christophe stared, eyes narrowing.

"Zat wasn't very nice, when I came out 'ere all worried about you."

Kyle stopped, cocking his head and pointing at the French boy. "You," he pointed to himself, "were worried about me?"

"Zat is what I said, silly. And I wanted to talk. You seemed very…shocked zat I am in your class."

Kyle turned away, blushing as he shoved his hat on, tucking curls under it. "Maybe a little."

Christophe smiled coolly at the blushing figure, reached a hand up and tucked a stray lock of auburn hair under the hat. The fading colour returned rapidly, making him chuckle. "You blush a lot, Broflovski."

"Do not!"

Christophe, taking advantage of the situation pinched his cheek. "Do too, _mon cher_."

He stood, glaring down at the other. He seemed little intimidated by Kyle, rather, amused. Kyle growled, not finding it entertaining, instead embarrassing. Who did Christophe think he was, waltzing into his life after dying and calling his faults?

"Where have you been all these years? Why couldn't you just, oh I don't know, stay dead?" Kyle flinched, the words that flew from his mouth harsh even to himself. He knew why Christophe wasn't dead, Kenny had wished them all back, but why _now_?

Christophe didn't seem to notice the accusation in his words though. "I 'ave been in Florida, a wretchedly 'umid place. Muzza sent me after ze war, enrolling me into a high quality Chazolic school, where I could be replenished and spared your faggot God's wrath. A year ago I came back, zough, and Muzza 'ome schooled me, finding ze Cazolic school here offensive, and Gregory a bad influence. She went to France for an emergency, and not trusting me to do my work put me 'ere."

Recognition flared on Kyle's face. "Wasn't Gregory the British kid during 'La Resistance' that liked Wendy?"

"Yes."

"How the Hell is that kid a bad influence?" he smirked.

"'e is ze one zat started me in covert operations, and as much as my word is worth, Gregory is not a pussy."

"He goes to Chatholic school—"

"And so did I, Broflovski," Christophe said with a brow quirked.

"Yeah but you look like a bad influence, mysterious, you've got attitude, you're, you're," he waved his hands around, searching for an adjective that fit.

"Insane? Annoying? A mercenary? Genius? Good-looking in black? Frightening?" the French boy offered.

Before a reply could be uttered, Kenny's blonde head poked out of the doorway, looking slightly surprised to find them so easily.

"Class is ending, dudes."

Christophe pushed off the wall to stand, taking Kyle's offered hand. Kenny turned away from them, a smile breaking out across his face at the simple act. They walked back inside, immediately being assaulted.

"So, were they making out all faerie-like, Kenny?"

Kyle sighed deeply, grabbing his bag. Lunch was going to be awful.

---

And it was. Cartman happily ragged on him for having a boyfriend, in which Kyle had responded confusedly, "I do not, Fatboy!" After punching Eric, Kenny had explained Christophe's classroom confession, which had gotten Stan riled up. When the ladder figured out who Christophe was, he just stared, shocked at his lunch before giggling constantly. It was when they went to the bathroom to wash their hands Stan had finally stated "how appropriate Christophe was a match". Disgruntled Kyle had tried to hunt out his newfound 'boyfriend', but it seemed he had disappeared off the face of Colorado.

Fifth period, AP biology, Christophe was there, much to Kyle's embarrassment and anger. Every time he went to pass a note to the French boy, either Cartman or Mr. Brady would intercept. When Mr. B did, he would spout something along the lines of, "Kyle Broflovski! I know you have the best grades this class has ever seen, but must you interrupt another student's learning with your notes?" The forth time this happened, he sighed and read the note. "Christophe, I heard about what you said in English, was any of it true? I mean, I know Cartman is capable of pulling shit out of his ass, but Kenny wouldn't. Do you have a crush on me or something?" Mr. Brady had looked at the note and between the two students, Kyle scarlet, Christophe slightly pink but managing to look unconcerned. He then folded it back up and slipped it into his rainbow apron, and went on about class. The notes had stopped.

Sixth was AP art portfolio, in which Christophe was there as well. Usually Ms. Fulton let the students run wild, not caring if you did art or not, as long as the assignment was done by the time grades were due. Today however, like Ms. Arzillo, she assaulted the Mole with questions of France, what he liked about art, what particular style, etc etc. It was only until the afternoon, Kyle got his chance to question Christophe.

---

The kids that rode the bus let out a collective groan, finding it missing from its usual place. Locked out of the school they all gathered on the front steps of the school, huddling in small groups to conserve warmth. Kyle felt an arm around his shoulders, a hot breath of chocolate-mint and underside of tobacco on his neck and cheek, another arm encircling to clasp brown-gloved hands. He reached a hand up to ruffle Kenny's blonde hair instinctually.

"Heya, dude."

Kenny sat behind him, legs encircling him as well. A slight tremor went through the blonde boy's body, alerting Kyle that something wasn't quite right with his friend. Before he could ask, Stan plopped down on the cold stairs with Wendy.

"Hey Kyle, heard you got into some trouble in Gay B's class, what for?" Stan asked, putting an arm around Wendy and pulling her closer. Gay B was what everyone from Mr. Garrison's old forth grade class called Mr. Brady, for a number of reasons. He was a Speed-o model in his younger years, wore a rainbow apron, and was overall very homosexual.

"Passing notes, my fine friends!" Cartman sung from behind them all, sitting down on the opposite side of Kyle from Stan. "So, Jew-boy, what's it like being gay? I'm very curious."

"Eric, that's not nice!" Wendy hissed.

"Yeah, shut up, dude," Stan muttered.

"No, no, no! Why don't you guys let him answer for once? I mean, goddamn, he's got a mouth, he can speak."

Kyle's mouth opened to answer, but closed as Kenny's voice interrupted, unnaturally harsh for the calm-and-collected boy.

"Will you all, please, _stop_! You argue about this every time you meet, it's rather dull, and to be frank, annoying. Kyle had a crush on Stan, so what? He had one of that Rebecca Cotswold too, right? So, he might be interested in guys, but it doesn't matter, okay?"

They all gaped, but the arguing stopped immediately. Kenny wasn't in the least frightening, but when he did become angry you know something bad could happen. He _did_ know Satan, and the archangels personally after all.

"Kenny, what's wrong?" Kyle finally asked. Extra warmth—a sigh.

"I think I'm coming down with a cold or something, it's really freaking, well, cold."

"Ah, dude, and you're laying all over me," Kyle said lightly, placing his hands over Kenny's to make sure the blonde knew it was a joke. In forth grade he had been dying of kidney disease, and Stan had been especially emotional over it, making Kenny angry that they cared about Kyle's death but not his. Since then the Jewish boy had become sympathetic toward Kenny, and much friendlier.

"Well, now I won't be the only one feeling pretty crappy," Kenny muttered, burying his face into Kyle's coat.

"Isn't that Christophe?" Craig asked to one in particular, more to get the attention of Kyle than anything. It worked wonders. Kyle's eyes snapped up, following the deep blue finger to where it was pointed. And there, walking in the student parking lot was the French-in-question.

Feeling Kyle tense, Kenny retracted away and nudged his friend. "Go on, you've been looking for him all day."

Kyle stood, grabbed his bag and looked down at the blonde. He was looking a bit more pale than usual, the bright sparkle from his eyes gone. His dilemma was make sure Kenny got home alright, or go talk to Christophe.

Seeing his frustration, Kenny snorted and grinned. "I said go on, Broflovski, or I'll go over there and drag the Frenchy by his hair over here to talk to you."

Kyle smiled as well at the wink he was given. "Thanks Kenny, later guys." Pretending to drop one of the notes he had written, he leaned to pick it up, whispering, "Make sure he gets home," to Stan, gave him a serious look, and trotted off.

Cartman placed a large hand on Kenny's shoulder, to receive a look. "You're totally in love with Jew-boy."

Kenny laughed, leaning against the bigger boy. "No, but I am in love with his coat; damn, it's so warm, and I'm not." In an attempt to make Kenny happy, yet remain his bastard-self, Eric yanked Kenny's hood up and over his face, placing a pudgy arm across him. They all seemed mildly surprised, but didn't question it; Kenny seemed more content, and they weren't going to risk his anger.

Kyle didn't notice any of it, though, he had his attention on one person. "Christophe!" he yelled at the boy getting into a '74 duo-toned Impala. He didn't seem to hear. "Christophe, damnit, _Christophe_!" Again, no response, except the Mole slamming the driver's side door closed and starting the ignition. Bravely Kyle stood in the way of the parking lot's only exit, hands on his hips. The Impala pulled two car lengths to him and stopped.

"Get out of ze way, Broflovski, if you don't I'll just 'ave to 'it you, and you really don't look like ze suicidal type," Christophe said, poking his head out of the window.

"I'm not moving until we talk."

A shrug and, "Suit yourself," was the only reply before the car started at him. Kyle shut his eyes tightly, knowing that Christophe wasn't joking, but he couldn't go back on his word. He felt the bumper gently hit his calves, but no bone-smashing, no being flung across the hood of a car. He opened his eyes to see the passenger side door open, and a smug Mole watching him with a cigarette between his lips.

"Get in."

Kyle slowly walked to the open door, glaring, threw his bag in the backseat and climbed in, buckling his seatbelt tight. He felt his face burn with embarrassment of knowing the other kids had seen the show. Christophe shifted back into drive-1 and pulled onto the main street, accepting silence.

Finally Kyle spoke, anger laced in his words. "You said you were going to hit me."

"And I did, silly, just not enough to 'urt, unless ego counts."

"You bastard…"

"Well yes, my muzza often calls me that as well when she's drunk." He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling away from Kyle. "Where do you live?"

"Excuse me?"

Christophe turned to look at him queerly, and Kyle felt his heart leap to his throat. The driver wasn't watching the road, and was all for acceleration. "Where do you live, Broflovski? I'm taking you 'ome."

"Watch the road and I'll give you directions," Kyle said, feeling slightly relieved as Christophe's eyes went back to watching what he was doing.

It didn't take long to arrive at the two-story grey-green house that looked like almost every other house in South Park in design, with exception to Token's and Kenny's. Christophe pulled into the driveway, shifting to park but leaving the ignition on. Kyle unbuckled his seatbelt, fished in the back for his bag and smiled at Christophe.

"Thanks for the ride, it was a lot better than the bus."

Christophe nodded once, tossing his cigarette out of the window. "Now, why is et you don't drive?"

"After Stan totaled his car by sliding on the icy roads into another car—of course he was going fifteen above the speed limit—Mom decided it best if I didn't have a car. But she promised before I go to college to get one for me," he said getting out.

A smug smile. "Well, go make sure you can get inside." Kyle shut the door, barely making out the "muzza's boy" on the end of the sentence. Growling he discreetly gave the brunette the finger as he went to the door, and fished for his keys in his pants pocket. He found nothing but the notes, wallet, and cell phone, making Kyle groan.

"Aw, shit."

He slumped back to Christophe's car, leaning against the hood near the window. The French boy cocked an eyebrow, leaning on his arm out the window. "What's up?"

"Left my keys inside."

"Oooh, you are quite brilliant, Broflovski. 'ow do you expect to get inside?"

"Well, I'd say through my bedroom window but Mom probably locked it after I left," he said with a heavy sigh and began ticking off unavailable resources on his fingers. "Ike is at a friends house, my parents won't get home until late, and the only other person with a key is Stan but I doubt he'll be home anytime soon. So I guess I'm stuck out in the snow."

"I can break in for you, I am ze Mole after all." Kyle stared disapprovingly.

"I don't need a hole in my floor, thanks."

Christophe snorted. "I can do more zan just tunnels, _mon cher_, breaking locks is not zat 'ard."

"I think I'd rather freeze."

"Stop being stubborn. Eizer I break into your 'ouse, or you shall come 'ome with me."

"My Mom wouldn't—"

"Muzza's boy!"

Kyle huffed, springing to his feet and glaring daggers. "I am not!"

"Are too, Broflovski. Remember ze war? You were too afraid of your muzza to stand up to her. Remember? 'No Mole, 'ang on, we'll get you 'ome. I can't face my muzza, not alone'? And now you let your muzza push you around. You're seventeen, no? I zink you can make a decision for yourself for once."

"That doesn't make me a mother's boy…"

"Yes, yes it does. Now if you don't write a note and leave et for 'er and come with me, you are a muzza's boy forever."

"Stop calling me a mother's boy!"

"Muzza's boy, muzza's boy," he nagged with a coy smile.

Kyle crossed his arms, but smiled as well, leaving Christophe's grin to falter. "Since you can't say it right, I guess you're off the hook."

"You're making fun of my accent now? Well fuck you, you American pig."

"No thanks, not a kind prospect," he said, tossing his bag onto the hood and dragging out a piece of notebook paper and pen. He scrawled a note, trotted to his front door and jammed it between the crack before throwing his things into the backseat again and climbing in. "You win, Frenchy, let's go to your house."

"Okay, but I'm warning you, my room is quite a mess."

---

Instead of driving straight to his house, Christophe took them to Mel's Diner on the northern edge of town. Christophe promised Kyle that he wouldn't like his cooking; Kyle, too hungry to argue, had said nothing. Upon ordering a bacon cheeseburger, the Jewish boy was called, "a disgusting American shitwit." Seeing Christophe's Caesar salad he was surprised, but not enough to _not_ call him, "a fucking French Vegan."

By the time they actually got to Christophe's, they sky had melted into purples and blues, stars scattered across the heavens. Kyle was taken through a tour of the house, minus Christophe's bedroom (save the best for later), and was pleasantly shocked to see a tabby cat sitting on the top of the stairs. When asked the brunette had shrugged stating, "I fucking hate guard dogs, but cats I simply adore."

As the cat (cleverly named Kit-_chat-chat_) rubbed against Kyle's leg, Christophe pointed to the spotless bathroom. "If you would like, you may shower, take a bath, whatever you Jewish people do."

He glanced into the violet painted bathroom, floor and shower walls tiled in white floral designs. "Uh, towels?"

Christophe reached down, picking up Kit-_chat-chat_ in his arms, and pointed to the closet outside of the door. "Towels galore, use anyzing you want." He walked down the hall and holed up in his room, leaving Kyle standing.

Shrugging it off he grabbed a towel from the closet and went into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it out of habit. At home Ike would always interrupt his shower time if the door was left unlocked with stupid questions, comments, or practical jokes to make up for "kick the baby". He turned the dial of the water and undressed, hanging his coat on the doorknob, and folding everything else up neatly and laying it on the toilet seat. He tested the temperature of the water with his finger, flipped the showerhead switch and jumped in with a content sigh.

Why was he so happy being around Christophe? The French bastard had died in his arms, returned one day with insults out of his ass, confessed some sick sort of lust for him, and was now being considerate and nice. And yet Kyle couldn't help but smile knowingly and blush like a fool. He ran his hands through his sopping wet hair, now foaming and smelling of eucalyptus, as he pondered these distant feelings.

Was he in love with the Mole? _No_, he thought inwardly, shaking his head, curls flying. _I am not in love with the Mole! Some emotional connection, sure, but everyone with a dying person in their arms has a connection to them, right?_ He washed the soap out and lathered his auburn ringlets with conditioner. What exactly were his feelings? He felt oddly safe with Christophe, giddy, and yet there was anger there as well that he couldn't place. He most certainly found himself more embarrassed and sheepish around Christophe, but what did that mean?

And what did he think of Christophe's confession? Some part of him was cheering "Score!" while another completely denied the accusations. But Kenny had been the one to say it, and Kenny wouldn't lie to Kyle. Plus the other kids in Ms. Arzillo's class had been talking about it as well, so it had to be true.

Washing out the conditioner he began washing himself, lost in thoughts of the boy two rooms down. Warmth and steam swirled around the bathroom, so when icy water hit Kyle he yelped, screaming, "**Christophe! **You whoring sonuvabitch, _stop it_!" Quickly he shut the water off, standing shivering as he heard the door open and a sickeningly sweet voice ask:

"What is et, _mon cher_? What 'ave I done?"

"You were playing with the taps!" Kyle yelled, a quaver in his voice from the cold.

"Well, yes, but you were taking too long," the accented voice scowled. "Like a girl does."

Angrily Kyle snatched the towel off of the rack and started drying himself, muttering obscenities. Glancing out from behind the shower curtain he glanced around, realizing one crucial factor. Now he was left begging to the 'enemy'.

"Christophe?"

"Hmm?"

"What am I going to wear?"

"Should have zought of zat before yelling," he heard the door close slowly and panicked.

"Christophe! Christophe, I'm sorry, really I am. Please don't be cruel and leave me here shivering in your shower without clothing, _please_?"

"Say, '_Sil vous plait? Je suis désolé, mon amour._'"

"Wha—?"

"Say et or you do not get to be dressed, which frankly, doesn't bother me but you might find et a bit uncomfortable."

Kyle tried his best to roll his tongue and cease breathing to achieve the nasal sound of a French accent, and failed miserable. "Sil vous plait? Je suis désolé, mon amour."

He heard the chuckle, purely amused by the attempt. "I'll be right back, _cher_."

He sighed, waiting impatiently, taking the time to ruffle his hair abusively with the towel to get the moisture out. He heard swift, shuffling footsteps on the tile, and clothing being dropped, before the shuffling disappeared and the door closed. Peeking out from the curtain he found piled on his clothing lots of black. Stepping out of the shower he got dressed, looking at himself in the mirror. His hair was rather untidy, but running a hand through it would fix the problem easily. The black long-sleeved shirt he knew immediately was Christophe's by how large it was on him; it cut halfway down his thighs and the sleeves covered his hands completely. The pants were black as well, silk, but had roses on them, and actually fit in the waist unlike all of his other pants. He knew those weren't Christophe's, but imagining them to be made him laugh.

Gathering his things he opened the door, looking around and finding Christophe's open, welcoming almost. He walked to it slowly, as if some sort of trap had been set, but surprisingly found the French boy reclining on his bed of black sheets, coddling his cat. Kyle glanced around; a desk sat against one wall covered in papers and elaborate doodles, harbouring a computer and printer, the only window was covered in heavy drapes, one wall fashioned a poster of a hooded boy and large grey rabbit, the floor was relatively clean despite a few articles of clothing near the closet, some papers, a shovel, coils of rope, cigarette packs and lighters, and a pocket knife. There as absolutely no dust; how did Christophe find this messy?

Glancing up Christophe waved his hand around the room and said, "Put your stuff where ever you find room, can't make ze place any more messy."

He plopped his stuff next to the bed stand that sported the only light source in the room minus a few candles. Reaching up to put on his hat, his hands were slapped hard enough to sting, and Kyle was tsked.

"One rule, no wearing that offending zing in my 'ouse. You're 'air is much too pretty, and wet, to 'ave zat on."

Kyle's face turned an unhealthy shade of red as he tossed it in his pile of stuff and climbed onto Christophe's bed. He blinked, looking at his host's chest, noticing the rabbit on it in white saying "I can show you the way" matched the one from the poster.

"What's on your shirt and poster?" he asked, pointed slightly to him and backwards in the general direction of the poster.

"Et is for a worldly movie called _Donnie Darko_ about time travel; quite an interesting see, not stupid at all, very breathtaking as et were. We can watch it if you'd like."

"After we talk."

Christophe smiled, knowing what was coming. He took a cigarette from the nightstand and lit it, nodding. "Alright, we will watch et after we talk, but I'm 'olding you to your word, _cher_."

Kyle glanced down as Kit-_chat-chat_ crawled onto his lap, kneading and purring relentlessly. Looking back up he asked, "What does that mean? 'Mon cher'?"

Christophe leaned back against the headboard, watching as his cat lay contently with Kyle, and smiled around his cig. "Literally et means 'my expensive', but et's commonly used in a slang form, meaning 'my dear'."

"What did you make me say in the bathroom? It wasn't anything vulgar and disgusting was it?"

Christophe snorted smoke. "Of course not, silly, what I called our English teacher a number of times was vulgar and disgusting. But I am not telling, you can ask someone else or consult a dictionary." He closed his eyes, taking a drag from his cancer stick and exhaling.

"Second, do you have feelings for me?"

He shrugged, opening an eye. "Zat is what 'alf of the school is saying, yes? Zat usually does make et true." Of course it was true, not just the better of the choices. Those feelings-in-question weren't quite as strong as he had alluded, and most certainly not love, but they were some form of attraction.

"Not necessarily…"

Christophe sighed, aspirated as he squished the cigarette out in an ashtray. Free of it he threw his hands up in mock defeat. "What do you want me to do, get on my knees and propose? Do I love you? I seriously doubt et. Is zere something zere? Well, yes, I am attracted to you, for what reason I do not know. Physical appearance, well yes, you are a very pretty boy, but et's more zan zat. Are you 'appy now?"

Flushing the redhead stared down at the cat, making sure he hid his pink cheeks well. "Ecstatic."

"Now why are you blushing? Is zere something _you_ should be telling _me_?"

Kyle took a breath and began, not stopping, "Wellsinceyoudiedinmyarmsthereissomething—"

"Whoa, whoa, _breath_ Broflovski, space out your words, I can't understand you."

"That was the point," he said, exhaling heavily, a hand idly stroking the little black cat.

"So, basically ze feeling is mutual, yes?"

"Basically," he admitted, smiling.

"Anyzing else?"

Kyle rolled around in his thoughts for a plausible question to ask, and found one that had been nagging him. "How did you get into the bathroom? I locked the door."

Christophe looked at him dumbly. "Well besides et being my 'ouse, my locks, and me being, well, me? Ze lock is broken on zat door."

"Oh," he said sheepishly, feeling like a fool. "Before we go watch the movie, can you do something for me?"

"Anyzing."

"Get your cat off of me, I can't feel my legs."

---

Before Christophe popped in the movie, and the guest had gotten comfortable on his side of the "L" shaped sofa, a few things in the movie were pointed out for argument's sake. Kyle, however, had found something to argue about anyway.

"I don't want you ruining the movie for me!"

"You won't like et, because you won't understand it if I don't point a few zings out, Broflovski! Stop being difficult, and don't give me zat pouty look. I 'ave known you for a total of two days and can tell you are one that has to 'ave all the logical evidence or you do not believe. In a sense et's a materialistic way of zinking, good for debates, but it also ensures you'll 'ate zis movie."

Grudgingly Kyle shut his mouth, and sunk back into the pile of pillows that separated to the forks of the "L" shaped couch, and kept him one section from the French boy.

"Listen and you will hear one of ze guys in the beginning say 'ow on the airplane engine a number was disintegrated; ze number that Donnie writes on 'is arm is the airplane number. Pay close attention to the dates, what Frank says, just pay attention."

At the beginning of the movie, Kyle had just thought Christophe had bad taste in films. As the plot was unveiled and the time travel methods were looked into, the redhead became increasingly interested. He closed his eyes, still listening, as a feminine voice floated from the distant television.

"This famous linguist once said that of all the phrases in the English language, of all the endless combinations of words in all of history, that Cellar Door is the most beautiful. "

Kyle smiled, yawning, feeling sleep take hold. His eyelids felt to heavy to open, but that was alright, and he muttered, voice seeming far away, "It's beautiful."

"What is, _mon cher_?" Christophe asked kindly, looking over to Kyle, and not surprisingly finding him almost asleep.

"Cellar Door, the world in which a troubled young boy sees it, the ideals, the dedication…" the Jewish boy nestled into the pillows, rolling to face the back of the couch where he curled up. "…The love."

"He even sleeps like a girl," Christophe scowled, turning the volume of the movie down, but continued to watch it through till the end. Slipping the DVD back into the case he turned off the DVD player and TV, leaving a light dimmed near the stairs so Kyle wasn't left in complete darkness. Strolling into the kitchen Christophe hunted for proper snacks, moving mounds of tea boxes out of the way and grabbing a tin of Piroulines. Marching up to his room, light on his feet as to not awake his guest, he clicked the monitor of his computer on and plopped down into the rolly chair. Popping the cookie-covered chocolate stick into his mouth he clicked open his email, finding several porn advertisements.

It was an ongoing occurrence, the penis growth links, Viagra subscriptions, homosexual porn links, along with other X-rated things. One of his only friends and allies, Gregory, had started the war when Christophe first got his email account set up. Every one he marked for junk, three new ones would appear in its place, and after a while he had learned to let them come. Of course, he had gotten revenge after he learned coding inscriptions to viruses, and how to hack.

Groaning around the cookie stick, he clicked on an address in the masses of the junk mail and quickly read over Gregory's message. _Christophe, I've heard you're back in South Park; how was Florida? Oh, no matter! I have a mission for you; come by October 19th and visit me, is that so much to ask? Reply asap, Gregory._

Christophe sat back, finishing his snack and moving onto another. After a mission they had been apart of in Florida, they had went out to celebrate with a drink showing just how lax the Sunshine state was with their law—as long as you had the money, it didn't matter what age you were. Gregory had become efficiently drunk after two screw drivers, and the normally prude British boy had made several passes at Christophe. Taking the boy back to the condo his mother had rented, he had cleaned Gregory up a bit, to be repaid by being shoved onto his bed, and finding Gregory's lips against his own. He had just been passive, letting the blonde kiss, stroke, caress, and nibble at him. It was just a product of the alcohol, nothing else, he remembered telling himself. Only until Gregory was kneeling over him, lips against his cheek did he notice the subtle change if the Brit; he wasn't acting out of lust or desire like when he had pinned Christophe to the bed, but rather affection and emotion. He'd pushed Gregory away then, gruffly saying, _"You're drunk, sleep." _

"_I…I love you, Christophe."_

"_No, ze tingly feeling is from ze alcohol, along with ze lightheadedness."_

Gregory had sat up with tears in his eyes. _"Are you rejecting me? I _love_ you, I have for a very long time, I only realized it after you're mother sent you away."_

"_I zink you need to sleep it off."_

"_My _emotions?_ You want me to forget the love I've had for you for, God, six years now? I'm sorry, Christophe, I can't do that."_

"_Zan go to sleep so _I_ can zink in peace without arguing with your intoxicated ass."_ Gregory had complied, thankfully. Christophe had made his way to the bathroom, and stayed there, sick for most of the night. The next morning Gregory had forgotten everything from the previous night, too hung over and achy to even worry why the French boy took great lengths to avoid him.

Christophe clicked the reply button, glancing briefly at the AOL instant messenger icon, another thing Gregory had set up for him. He typed a swift message—_Maybe, we'll see_.

He sat back, munching on another Pirouline stick, waiting. Gregory was on the computer at every waking hour, and it as only time before—_You've Got Mail!_

He opened it, smiling. _Come online, Christophe, it'll be much easier._

He fingers flew over the keyboard. _I have a guest, it would be rude to keep him…waiting_. He clicked 'send', and within minutes he was answered.

_You have a friend? Oh my God, when did this happen?…Wait a second, that wasn't a sexual reference, was it? Please say you haven't turned to the 'rainbow side' on us. You know, don't answer that, just think about my offer and…OoooOoooh, bad, dirty mental images. Well, don't keep him waiting on my behalf, go "do" you're things._

He typed one last thing, egging on the Brit's imagination. _What makes you think we're not "doing" such things I sit here typing? We could be acting out Clinton's little scene from the Oval office._ Clicking the 'send' button once more he shut the monitor off, climbed from the chair and stretched his hands over his head, shoulders cracking.

Walking out of his bedroom Christophe glanced briefly at the clock in the hall—ten thirty three. It was still too early or him to sleep, and usually he'd either be out on the town, or downstairs watching TV. If his mother was home, he'd be pretending to sleep, but actually surfing the net.

Sighing he trotted down stairs into the living room and over to Kyle. The redhead was curled up in a fetal position, arms tucked under his knees, hands covering his mouth, gnawing on the edge of Christophe's shirt. He looked cute, childish, lost in some fantasy world of flowers and unicorns. Christophe found himself smiling, and slightly guilty he'd have to wake up the boy.

"Kyle, wake up," he said softly. The reply he got was a groan, and more chewing on the shirt. Christophe placed a hand on the sleeping boy's shoulder, shaking gently. "Kyle."

"Yes I like cake," Kyle mumbled, "But I like pie more."

Christophe bit his cheek to keep from bursting into laughter, a smile curving his lips. What was Kyle dreaming about? Shaking him again Christophe said, "Come on, Kyle, wake up, I'm not letting you sleep out on my sofa."

Kyle rolled farther into the couch. "Yeah, I love cherry pie, but not…but not as much as you, Jay Gordon."

Christophe withdrew his hand, a brow quirked at the name. Jay Gordon, who was he? When he placed the name, he chuckled. Jay was the lead vocalist for a rock-electronica band called Orgy, with tempting and nearly seductive lyrics.

Leaning down, lips brushing Kyle's cheek he whispered, "Kyle, get up for me or I'm picking you up."

"You can't pick me up, 'tophe, we aren't in a bar," Kyle responded a bit more solidly, but not much.

Rolling his eyes Christophe got an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders and under his knees and lifted easily. Startled, Kyle squealed, eyes flying open and thrashed, knocking Christophe hard in the stomach. He grunted, flinching slightly but didn't let go as he walked to the stairs and carried Kyle securely up them.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked with a hint of sleep traced in his voice. "I can walk."

"Yes, you might be physically capable of doing so but you currently aren't."

Christophe smiled as the redhead huffed angrily. He entered his bedroom, receiving another squeal as he dropped Kyle unceremoniously into the black sheets on his bed. He turned to leave, but found his right arm being held at the wrist behind him.

"And where do you think your going?"

"Dunno, to watch a movie, shower, sleep?"

"How are you going to sleep if I'm in your bed?"

"I will sleep on the sofa or in my muzza's bed, okay?"

"No! Not okay."

He turned to peer over his shoulder at the half-asleep, angry Jew. "What, do you want me to sleep with you?"

"No!"

Yanking his wrist away he pushed Kyle back into the mass of blackness, pulling the blankets up to his chin. He complied, too tired to struggle against Christophe's firm hold. "Zen sleep." Christophe leaned down, brushing crimson bangs away from Kyle's forehead as he kissed it, and walked from the room.

"Thank you, 'tophe," Kyle's sleep-filled voice muttered before the door was closed, brightening the other's life.

---

Kyle groaned as his mind sung the words to wordless music playing somewhere off to his right. _'Your hair it's everywhere, screaming infidelities, and taking its wear. Your hair it's everywhere—shut up, brain!'_ The music didn't stop, instead becoming a blaring annoyance. Shaking off the tangles of sleep Kyle realized just why "Screaming Infidelities" was playing and launched out of bed, digging in his pants from the pile on the floor for his cell phone. He knew his best friend, he'd let the phone ring exactly five times before hanging up, which was when the third line of the ringtone finished. Clicking the accept button he screamed, "Stan, _Stan_ I'm here, don't hang up!"

Chuckling issued on the other end of the receiver. "'kay Kyle, I'm not hanging up."

He sighed in relief, resting his head back against the bed he had dived out of. "What's up?"

"Dude, where are you?" Concern, he heard concern, and a trace of anger.

He glanced around, trying to figure that out for himself. Then he remembered. "Christophe's."

Stan snorted, but he knew all worry was gone, for what reason he couldn't fathom. "Ah, so you are in love with De Lorne."

Kyle felt his face burn. "What? No! That's sick, you're sick!"

"You're blushing," Stan replied in a sing song croon.

"What! No, I'm not! No, wait, how'd you know?"

Another chuckle. "I'm your best friend, dude, I just _know_. Plus when you're about to deny something even remotely related to relationships you blush."

"Hmph."

"And you've got a thing for Frenchy."

"Do not!" Kyle shouted, pulling it away from his ear to glare at it menacingly.

"Dude, we all saw you yesterday, jumping out in front of his car and then blushing like a maniac while he stared you down. There was _love_ there."

"Was not."

"If you don't believe me, wanna hear it from Kenny? You know he's got a sixth sense with these things."

"And how do you expect me to hear it from Kenny?" Kyle asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes though he knew Stan couldn't see it.

"He slept over so he could get some nice rest, Wendy didn't mind canceling our date. Speaking of sleeping over, you told your mom you were staying at my house."

Dread flowed through his veins, making Kyle shudder. "You didn't call her, did you?"

"Nah, I had Kenny do it. So why are you over at De Lorne's anyway?"

Kyle explained locking himself out of the house and being given no choice. Stan had just laughed, singing, "Lover boy, lover boy," in which Kenny even joined from the background. Kyle sighed angrily.

"I'm hanging up now."

"Lover—No, Kyle, don't get all huffy!"

"No, dude, I'm hungry and smell food."

"Oh, okay, have fun with Frenchy. Bye—wait, Kenny says 'don't deny it, Broflovski.'"

He hit end, throwing the phone back into his clothing with a muttered, "fuck you". Fluffing his hair he made his way to downstairs. Who did they think they were, calling his shots like that? Making him admit something as rich as his so-called love for Christophe? Wait, there wasn't anything to admit, right? Right.

His nose, and stomach, led Kyle into the kitchen were he stopped short. Christophe stood near the stove, changed into black jeans and a long sleeved turtleneck, hair moist and tousled messily. His breath hitched as Stan and Kenny's accusations hit him hard.

"So you cannot bozer to get up while I am tripping over sheet trying to get to my armoire, but for food you are very willing, yes?" Christophe asked, flipping whatever he was cooking.

Kyle took a seat at the table, laying down on it and yawned. "Actually Stan called and it woke me up, but the food does smell appetizing."

"Zank you, but I am not sure you will like ze French cuisine I'm going to offer you. If not, zere should be some cereal or somezing around here you will like." He shut the stove off, setting two plates on the table. Kyle looked at it, raising a brow; it contained thin pancake looking things and rather normal looking scrambled eggs.

"Doesn't look very 'French' to me," the redhead said uncertain as he poked the thin pancakes with his fork. Christophe laughed, handing him a glass of chocolate milk; no one could _not_ love chocolate milk.

"They're crêpes, like your American pancakes but we usually don't make a habit of putting syrup on zem, zough I suppose you can put anyzing with zem and zey would still taste delicious."

"And what do you put on them so they don't look so bland?"

From behind his back Christophe produced strawberry preserves, chocolate, and powdered sugar. As he explained all of the uses of crêpes Kyle ate, not really paying attention, too interested in the scrumptious treat he'd been introduced with. Once his plate as clean of every spec of powered sugar, Kyle finally listened.

"Now, 'ow is it we are going to get you 'ome without your muzza knowing?"

And it was then he wished he hadn't.

---

The plan was relatively simple; Christophe would drop Kyle off a few houses down from his own in the direction of Stan's, and he'd walk home. Kyle would be picked up an hour or so later by the French boy and they'd have the whole day to themselves. And it seemed utterly flawless, but their as one thing they hadn't thought to add in; Ike.

Entering the house was easy, and he was greeted by the usual questions about how Stanley's was, which the usual answers were replied somberly. He said 'hello' to his father, and grudgingly brought up the issue at hand.

"Oh, Mom, I'm going out in about an hour with a friend."

Sheila turned from her breakfast making, hands on her hips, a spatula protruding from one. "But you just got home, Booby. And I thought you were going out with Stanley today?"

Kyle blinked, remembering the plans his best friend had set with Kenny, Eric, and Wendy. He'd have to call Stan back about that. "I was, but I had to make some unexpected changes."

"Well what friend?"

"He's knew, name is Christophe."

Sheila eyed him as if hunting for the lie, but just turned back to the stove. "Alright Booby, but go get cleaned up. And wake your brother, please."

Kyle took his leave, running upstairs and poking his head into his brother's untamed room. Not finding him within the deep blue blankets the redhead shrugged, strolling into his own room and plopping his backpack down before going to the dresser to grab a change of clothes to shower. He heard his door close and jumped, turning and seeing Ike standing in his pajamas, hair ruffled from sleep, smug.

"You weren't at Stan's house."

"What are you talking about, of course I was," Kyle replied nervously, giving his brother a fake smile. _'Oh, God, he knows. I don't know how but he knows.'_

"No, you weren't. I answered the phone when Kenny called, and Stan could be heard quite clearly in the background. So where exactly were you?"

Cursing Stan mentally he shrugged. "I was at a new kid's place."

"I'm telling Mom, and since your friend will be coming over, it'd be wise to kiss my ass right now."

Kyle gaped at the Canadian. "You're blackmailing me?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what do you want? Even if I'm not fond of Christophe, I don't want Mom to go off on him," he said with uncertainty. Last time she had, the French boy had died, which had got him into this mess anyway.

Ike thought, fluffing his hair out of habit. A wicked smile bloomed across his face as he stared at his brother with cold mahogany eyes. "I want you to take your friend to the homecoming dance."

Kyle stared before he realized what exactly Ike was asking. "What? No way, he's a dude!"

Shrugging Ike turned to the doorway. "Fine, I'm telling Mom."

"Ike, no! How long do I have?"

"Until Stan's birthday."

Kyle growled, that gave him a week. "Fine, now get out, I still have to get ready before he gets here." Brushing passed Ike he whacked him, hard, over the head. "Mom made breakfast, go eat you heathen."

Ike shoved Kyle, hardly moving the seventeen year old. Eyes narrowing he kicked Kyle it he back of the knee, receiving a howl of pain that warned him he'd better get downstairs fast. Laughing in glee he ran down the stairs, vaulting off of the banister three-fourths down. Gerald, hearing the thunk of Ike's landing looked up from his paper.

"Morning Ike. Your Mom made breakfast already."

Ike smiled. "Yeah I know, Kiley told me." Walking passed the door it erupted in knocking, startling the nine year old. He eyed at suspiciously.

"Ike, can you get the door? It's probably Kile's friend," Sheila yelled from the kitchen. Mumbling something obscene under his breath the boy opened the door to be met with the sight of Christophe, hands behind his back as if concealing something. Ike just stared up at him without intention of moving or offering any words.

"Zis is ze Broflovski residence, yes?" the distinctive accent asked. Still Ike didn't say a thing.

"Ike, don't be rude, let the boy in!" Sheila scowled, pulling her youngest son from the doorway and offering Christophe a smile. "You must be Christophe, it's a pleasure to meet you. Come in, come in!"

He slipped in passed the brooding, raven-haired child, and the large Broflovski woman. She looked like she had those many years ago, except instead of calling guard dogs to attack, she was smiling and welcoming him in.

"Would you like some breakfast while you wait for Kyle?" she asked, without an answer ushering him into the kitchen and forcing him down into a chair. "Boys these days, you never eat enough, look how skinny you are!"

Christophe hid his grin, looking down at himself. He might be skinny, but he was toned from the work he had to do, but not nearly as small as her sons. "Zank you Ms. Broflovski, zat would be wonderful."

She smiled, crossing her arms with a small nod of acknowledgement. Then something flashed across her mind, the image of a small French boy at the USO show nearly ten years ago. "Hun, you seem familiar, do I know you?"

Christophe glanced up, fork sticking out of his mouth. _'Sheet, she remembers.'_

"I was ze one zat tried to rescue Terrence and Phillip from execution during ze war. Ze one zat got attacked by guard dogs."

Sheila's eyes widened; she had been the one to make the dogs attack the boy. "Oh, hun, you weren't hurt were you? I mean, I didn't want—it took almost ending the world to understand what I did was wrong. You're alright now, though?" Christophe opened his mouth to answer but was hushed by Kyle's exhausted voice from the kitchen's entrance.

"Mom, it took _me_ for you to end the war," the redhead said as he looked passed his mother. "Heya dude."

"Allo."

"Kyle, why don't you—" Sheila started but was interrupted by Kyle shaking his head vigorously.

"No thanks, Mom, I ate at…Stan's." Ike looked up at that, giving his brother a warning look before digging back into his food.

"Well isn't that nice," she said, eyeing his wet hair. "Go dry that before you go out, I don't want you getting sick."

Kyle sighed, slinking back upstairs to dry his hair. Christophe broke into a silly grin as he finished his second breakfast that morning, unsure what to do with the dirty plate. Seeing his concern Sheila took it from him without question or argument.

"Why don't you go up and get Kyle? It shouldn't take him nearly seven minutes to dry his hair."

With a nod the French boy climbed up the stairs, greeting Gerald on his way, and leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom. Kyle was picking his hair delicately to keep it from frizzing, and seeing Christophe watching made his face flame a bright red. He tousled Kyle's hair, hand being bat away as the vile green ski cap was applied. Kyle shoved him out of the way, thinking it over and grabbed his wrist, leading him back downstairs.

"Bye, Mom!"

"Be back before dinner, hun."

Without even arguing he shut the door, going out to Christophe's car. Before he knew it, he was in the passenger's seat, driving away from his house in comfortable silence.

"Your bruzza is Canadian. Wasn't you muzza the one that created the club MAC?"

"Yeah, rather ironic isn't it? She forgot about her own adopted son being Canadian while fighting against his people."

"Your family is weird," he replied idly, receiving a glare from Kyle.

"Tell me how so!"

"Well besides your muzza, your bruzza kept giving me dirty looks, and your fazza was happily unaware of anyzing going on."

"Ike knows I as at your house last night, and Dad is always like that," he said leaning against the window. "So where are we going anyway?"

"Zat, _mon cher_, I do not know. Do you 'ave any place in mind?" Christophe asked, driving with one hand as he pulled a cigarette from a box, and lit it up at a red light, taking a deep drag form it.

"Well my friends are at the arcade—oh, shit, I need to call Stan about that." Quickly dialing up his friend he was answered on the second ring. He explained the situation, in which Stan had happily said he understood and hung up. "Okay, so the mall is out of the question unless you want to be hassled by Cartman. That leaves us with the movies, but nothing good is playing at the moment, and hiking out in the middle of no where."

"How about Zis?" Christophe asked, and Kyle saw himself looking out onto a slushy Stark Pond. It wasn't cold enough to freeze it over in thick ice, but chilly enough to leave a very thin layer of slush. Getting out into the cold he gave a slight nod.

"What do you have planned, 'tophe?"

Throwing his cigarette to the ground he quirked a brow. "'tophe?"

"Yeah, if you get to call me 'mon cher' I get to call you 'tophe."

"I guess zat is fair," he replied, walking around the pond and off toward the edge of a tree patch. Kyle quickened his pace to keep up. "You know, you talk in your sleep."

"What?"

Christophe smiled, slowing down so the boy could keep up. "You talk in your sleep. Last night, somezing about pie and Jay Gordon." Kyle's face immediately turned bright red, and he looked down at the ground. Draping an arm across his shoulders Christophe chuckled. "It is nothing to be ashamed by, Borflovski, everyone has zeir own quirky little 'abits."

"Including you," Kyle said, looking up a Christophe.

"I suppose so."

They walked like that, bodies touching through the trees, silence keeping them secure. Occasionally one or the other would shiver, and they'd end up closer, drawing warmth from each other. If one sneezed, the other would shove the sniffling boy away and run off laughing, being chased and usually tackled. When this did occur they would roll around and tussle on the frozen ground, each trying to be the one pinning the other down, in which Christophe was the winner in every match.

During their walk to where ever Christophe was leading, they came across quite a few creatures; a doe and its child, a cougar, plenty of songbirds, a fox and its kits, and a number of little snow hares. At one point Kyle had stopped dead, pulling the French boy to a halt as a rabbit crossed their path. At first Christophe had thought that perhaps the redhead was afraid of rabbits, until he saw the sparkling green eyes in pure joy and amazement. He'd felt Kyle's fingers curl around his own as the rabbit had sniffed the air and hopped about, a little bit closer. Kyle had gone to point, and finding their fingers laced looked at him queerly before laughing and skipping off.

But Kyle hadn't complained about any part of their hike. He seemed too enraptured by the actual beauty South Park could offer to even dare protest. And when they reached their destination, his excitement grew tenfold.

They stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the small mountain town, glass windows glistening in the thin air like glitter. The treetops, coated in a layer of snow seemed pristine, even the murky Stark Pond sparkled in the afternoon sun. The mountains surrounding the town seemed somehow larger viewed from a high elevation, and looked painted in the crystal blue sky.

Kyle's eyes widened as he stepped to the edge of the cliff, facial expression turning to one of sheer wonder. "Oh, wow! It's gorgeous, I never knew South Park could be so astonishing."

Christophe smiled at the reaction before sitting on the edge, feet dangling. "Yes, I never knew it eizer until I came 'ere."

"How did you ever find this place?"

"I explore a lot to get away from my muzza, and just climbed until I got 'ere. Et's relaxing, in a weird sense."

Kyle snorted, sitting beside his newfound friend, leaning back on his palms. "I always pictured you more in a condo with high powered guns around you, not hiking to a cliff."

"I am ze Mole, I am comfortable within ze earth, why would I not be in nature?"

"Guess you have a point." He glanced at Christophe, mouth agape at seeing him with a cigarette between his lips. "How can you even _think_ about defiling such a place with your smoking?"

"Oh, et really isn't zat 'ard, I just zink about 'ow long et 'as been since we were down zere," he says, pointing to Stark Pond where his car sits parked next to the sign.

"How nasty," Kyle replied, scooting a few inches away from Christophe.

"Don't knock et until you try et," he replied coolly, and upon noticing the redhead adds, "Gregory at least tried it before deeming et disgusting."

"Well I'm not Gregory!" Kyle hissed.

"Yes, I did 'appen to detect zat when I saw your auburn curls, and 'eard you speak. Plus, you follow ze rules without even zinking about stepping off of the line."

"Nuh uh!"

"Yes huh, but do not take offense, it is just another quirk of yours zat makes you cute."

Scowling Kyle snatched the cigarette from Christophe. "If I end up dying, you'd better not leave my body for the birds."

"You will not die with one drag, I promise you zat."

He put the blunt to his lips nervously and inhaled. As soon as the smoke touched his throat Kyle started to choke, coughing. Christophe grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, lips meeting his own. Kyle was too surprised to understand what was going on until the French boy pulled away, exhaling smoke toward the town. He felt his face flush dangerously as he swallowed hard, finding himself free from the coughing fit.

"You—you kissed me!"

"I most certainly did not, I zink I just saved you from hacking all over ze place."

"No, no, no! Your lips met mine, that is a kiss."

Christophe scowled. "If zat was a kiss, et was not pleasant in ze least, because you were coughing into my mouth ze whole time. Et wasn't even a pleasurable shotgun experience."

Kyle had heard of shotgunning, but didn't know of anyone that actually had done it before with exception to Kenny, but most things of the sort were with exception to Kenny.

"It was still a kiss!"

"Don't get 'ormonal on me, Broflovski, if I 'ad known you would I wouldn't 'ave done et," Christophe said with a sigh, glancing at him from under chocolate bangs.

"I'm not hormonal, I guess I'm just confused," Kyle admitted, looking back to the glittering town.

"About what?"

"Everything. You just appear one day and I go through more mood swings than a PMSing chick. First utter shock and embarrassment, then irritation and frustration, moving onto anger and hate, switching over to denial and a pinch of being frightened, then I'm content and happy, then overjoyed and astonished, and now reeling in it all. Of course you can't forget all of the questions my mind is bombarding me with like 'why do I feel this way', 'why am I letting it get to me', 'why am I attracted to you', 'why am I admitting all of this', and 'why do I feel like such a giant pussy right now'. And that kiss—yes it was a kiss—didn't help matters."

Christophe rolled his eyes, hand going to Kyle cheek as their lips met once more, cutting the redhead off from speaking. This time, the only thing Kyle was being saved from was his definition of a kiss. It was chaste, a brush of lips and nothing more. As Christophe pulled away he noted the other had ceased breathing all together, making him smile. Standing he offered a hand to his blushing companion.

"Zink on zat as we go back."

"Will it take as long going down as it did coming up?"

"Only if you want."

"Yeah, I want to take the long way around."

The way down was much like the way up. They continued their game of tackle-tag, except Christophe made this round as uncomfortable for both parties as possible. Tired of Christophe's carefulness Kyle got the upper hand and pinned the other boy in a rather risqué position, receiving a daring look and a laugh. From then on the game turned into all out fun and roughhousing, both sustaining rather minor injuries such as bruises and cuts. The only "serious" one issued was Christophe being elbowed in the eye by mistake as Kyle struggled to stand. Within a few minutes the chocolate eye was surrounded in a mass of purple and blue tinged with the reds of a surfacing bruise.

By the time they had reached the car it was already five, giving the French boy an hour to get Kyle home. The ladder settled into the passenger seat, head resting against the window as he contemplated Christophe's kiss. What did it mean? Was it one of those 'shut the fuck up' kisses he had been exposed to in girly teenage romance movies with Wendy and Stan? Or was there an underlying explanation? Christophe had already plainly said he didn't love him, but he'd never said he wasn't emotionally attracted, right? He'd admitted physical attraction, but not emotional. And what was it that as in the kiss? Smoke, weariness, maybe even a hint of happiness.

'_Why am I so hooked on it? He said not to be hormonal.'_

'_He also told you to think on it,' _his mind argued.

'_Only because I wouldn't shut up about my problems.'_

'_No, he wanted you to think about something _other_ than your problems.'_

'_It just added to them!'_

'_Perhaps, but you aren't thinking about them directly, you're too worried about this other thing.'_

The car pulled into his drive before he knew it, and Kyle felt a tinge of sadness. He turned to look at Christophe, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched the other boy.

"Thanks for taking me out."

"Et was not a problem," Christophe replied casually, but he could tell the tension was there.

"I thought on, you know, the kiss," Kyle muttered, receiving a look. "And I've decided something."

"What is zat, hm?"

"I have no fucking clue what you meant by it, and I don't want to tip-toe around the subject because knowing the people at school, they'll know something is up if there's tension, so I'm just going to accept it as it is."

Christophe chuckled, sighing, cocking his head to the side. "Well, zat is good I suppose."

"But I've also decided something more about myself than you."

"And zat is?"

Kyle leaned forward, imitating the kiss he had received from Christophe, the barest hint of lips brushing.

From his room Ike watched his brother kiss the French boy, and smiled to himself, knowing that his setup was working.

And this was only the beginning.

---

Glossary

_Oui madame, je suis parle français. As-tu perdu l'esprit? J'ai habit en France, porqoui je ne parle pas français? Pétasse…_ - Yes m'am, I speak French. Have you lost your mind? I lived in France, why wouldn't I speak French? Bitch.

_Mon cher_ – As Christophe explained, it literally translates to "my expensive" but is used in a slang form of "my dear"

_Sil vous plait? Je suis désolé, mon amour_ - Please? I'm sorry, my love


	2. Chapter One

**Warnings**: Language, _Donnie Darko_ reffs, slash, English spellings, FWS (fictional writer syndrome)

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters or settings, Matt and Trey take credit for their existence, Comedy Central has the rights and stuff. Nor can I take credit for the lyrics, those are Kenny Chesney's. Oh, don't own any movies/bands/teams/etc. Can't say Alice is mine, either, she just represents every snotty bitch in the history of existence. Basically the only thing I own is the Impala mentioned-the Pimp Mobile _is_ mine.

**A/N**: OMG update :D Sorry it's so late, I don't really have a good excuse, but I've been writing my butt off for two days to finish the chapter. But it's long, hope that covers my ass. I got a major case of FWS in this chapter, so I'd like to say that what happened with Christophe's Dad was me bullshitting, and I made up his Mum's name. Along with the Alice story, that was thrown in for fun.

Toward the end there's a major scene that's just French, having Christophe and his Mum going at it. When you get there you will know; I suggest having another window open down at the glossary so you know what's going on xD

To go along with that thought, my French betas are on vacation and I don't want to call long distance. So the French is handicapped, sorry I butchered a language. I speak it fairly well, but doing a conversation I'm not having (and my teacher isn't there to ride my ass about being correct), I suck. Sorry again.

I think it's proper to mention the timing so it's not confusing. The last chapter started on October 11th, that Saturday was October 12th. Stan's birthday is conveniently on the following Saturday, October 19th. The homecoming football match is the 25th, the dance the 26th. Alright, now that's out of the way.

I have fanart, links in the profile. And I did pics for the twinday outfits, also found in my profile.

Thanks to the reviewers, you guys make me feel special, even the flamers that find it fitting to flood my hotmail account with easily discernable facts like they're gay. You guys really amuse me :3

**Me-ladie**-you do use 'tophe, don't you? -slaps self- Sorry, there was no intention of stepping into your domain there, long story short I've thought Christophe's name was 'tophe until I recently rewatched BLU and found out I've been making a jackass of myself for several years.

As for **Qtie**'s question about Kenny having a crush on Kyle, maybe a small one. We'll see where that goes, but it was more me attempting to satisfy everyone's personal pairing. Still got a few to through in P:

* * *

"_I go back to a two toned short bed Chevy  
Driving my first love out to the levvy  
Living life with no sense of time  
And I go back to the feel of a fifty yard line  
A blanket, a girl, some raspberry wine  
Wishing time would stop right in its tracks  
Every time I hear that song, I go back_"

-"I Go Back," Kenny Chesney

The following week of school wasn't uncomfortable in the least. Monday came with glances between Kyle and Christophe from the senior class, and even a few individuals were gutsy enough to ask if "they were an item". If this was done in the presence of Wendy, she'd smile pleasantly and smack the person across the face with her pre-calculus book before wrapping an arm around Kyle's waist and leading him away.

Christophe was also in his gym class, along with almost every other student from Mr. Garrison's old class. After being introduced they started dodgeball, a favourite game of the coach, who stood by the bleachers grinning gleefully as his students were pegged out. The round quickly dwindled down to the new French student against Stan, whom both vengefully played for the win. However, by the time the coach blew the whistle, all the boys had accomplished was being drenched in sweat and pushing themselves to nearly passing out from fatigue.

Tuesday was uneventful for the most part. Wendy was gone from school, much to Stan's worry. Without her around, Eric cheerfully made jokes and comments about Christophe and Kyle throughout the day. Lunch, however, was the worst. It was an accepted fact Christophe ate with them now, disappearing about ten minutes before lunch ended to go smoke outside. Cartman had nagged at them the entire lunch period without gaining so much as a look from the French boy, until he had hit thin ice. "You know, I'm not surprised you're a flaming queer, _Christopher_," Eric had begun, adding emphasis on the Americanized variant of 'Christophe'. "I mean, only a gay little Frenchy would _sing_ as he died in some faggy Jew's arms, then come back and kiss his ass."

In response Christophe had socked Eric in the mouth, sending the larger boy backwards onto the cafeteria floor, lip bleeding and puffy, and walked away through the stunned silence. Kyle had found him outside, and when asked what was wrong, Christophe had replied with a quote from _Donnie Darko _in French, "_Quelques personnes sont justes soutenues avec la tragédie dans leur sang_."

Wednesday Christophe hadn't turned up at lunch, giving Cartman some twisted satisfaction. Kyle didn't bother to search him out this time, instead remained quiet, Hell bent on not letting the fat boy get on his nerves. Toward the end of lunch Stan had excused himself to talk to Bebe about his girlfriend's absence, and Eric had just smiled as he took the opportunity to question Kyle.

"So where were you Saturday, Jew, fucking around with your French boy-toy?"

Kyle had forced himself to smile back, baring teeth in more of a snarl than anything.

"And if I was?"

"Oh, I already knew you were. You see, my fine Jewish friend, I went over to your house and that bitch you call a mother told me you were gone with a kid named Christophe."

The two had stared at each other from across the table until the bell rung. When it did Kyle had stepped in front of Cartman's way, said in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Roshambo," and kicked him in the groin before running off to fifth period, feeling accomplished.

Thursday Wendy had returned, looking rather green around the edges and exhausted. She only spoke if spoken to, and otherwise seemed distant from the world. In English they were to present their arguments on a specific debate topic and sway the class to their side. Wendy was partnered with Bebe in a debate about abortion, against Pip and Damien. In the final rebuttal Wendy had burst into tears and run out of the class, leaving her fellow peers in hushed astonishment. As Bebe went to find her best friend, the most commonly accepted rumour started was that Wendy had been gone from school to have an abortion on her and Stan's child. She had returned ten minutes later, eyes red and puffy but in control of her emotions and finished the debate before going home. Bebe had sheepishly explained to the class Wendy was having a rough "time of the month" and the topic of debate had gotten the best of her. The issue was dropped there.

Friday Wendy was gone, but Kenny returned from being out with the flu. Friday was also the day Kyle had been convinced to join powder puff.

Lunch had started out with the normal insults being flung back and forth, jokes, and guy talk since there was no "black haired hippie" to offend. It wasn't until after they had finished eating Kenny asked:

"So, Kyle, have you tried out for powder puff yet?"

Kyle had looked at his blonde friend queerly. "Usually Stan is the one begging me, what's up Kenny? Still sick?"

The accused had laughed, blue eyes glittering. "Nah, I'm over the flu, but come on, live a little! It's your senior year, make a big mark on the schools history. Anyway, don't you want to walk down the halls and have freshmen looking at you in wonder, saying 'hey look, it's the hot redhead powder puff cheerleader'?"

"Not really, I wouldn't feel to proud of myself being recognized as a cheerleader."

"Jew-boy, damnit, everyone else at this table is in for powder puff!" Cartman growled, receiving a look from Christophe. "Well except your little boyfriend, but even Butters is doing it! You're going to be even lamer if you don't."

"Like you care, fatass," Kyle had snorted, shaking his auburn curls from his face. "I mean, dude, we've already established I have no rhythm, can't lift heavy things for my life, so what would I be?"

"Our flyer," Kenny had said, looking up with determination on his face. "You're small, you're the lightest person that could try out, you're perfect for the job."

Kyle shook his head frantically, "Oh no, I don't trust you guys to catch me. We'll be off beat and you guys will be doing something different in the routine and I'd fall to my death."

"If I am zere, you shall not fall to your death," Christophe spoke up, squeezing Kyle's knee mischievously.

Before he could reply Stan jumped in. "Dude, just do it, it'll be fun, and you can't pull the embarrassment card since we'll _all_ be in a cheerleading uniform."

Being nudged in the side Christophe spoke his part of the ploy. "Oh, doesn't zat sound interesting? If you do not do et for zem, _mon cher_, do et so I can see your pretty little self in a skirt."

"I don't want to be seen in a skirt, though!" he had pouted. "I'm already feminine enough, put me in a skirt and I'll end up turning into something like Gay B or Mr. Garrison when I'm older."

In response Christophe had just said, "Fine, suit yourself," and shoved him off of his chair and onto the floor. Kyle had glared, stood and loomed over the French boy, hands curled into fist. Christophe had just looked up at him from under his bangs, looking coy and somehow innocent while saying, "I love you." Even knowing it was lighthearted and jokingly said, Kyle had stopped dead and a flush crept up his cheeks. Hiding it he had grudgingly agreed to join powder puff.

The after school practice was more of a team meeting than anything. Sizes were taken by a seamstress so uniforms could be made that fit, and each person was informed of his position. They were given practice dates and times (everyday after school, Saturday and Sunday noon till four), and were separated into two different squads. The head captain was Kenny, much to Kyle's surprise and delight, and the vice-captain was Cartman. After a brutal prep-talk they were released to freedom, Kyle finding his French toy waiting in the parking lot to take them out to dinner and the arcade. He hardly noticed he stayed out passed his curfew of ten by five hours, obliviously happy playing Dance Dance Revolution into the wee hours of the morning.

It wasn't until the next morning he noticed.

---

Groaning Kyle woke to his mother pounding on his door before inviting herself into his room and threw open the curtains. Mumbling obscenities he rolled over, scowling at his clock. The bright green letters that read nine 'o four seemed to mock him for getting to bed around four in the morning.

"Wake up, Booby, you've got a long day ahead of you," Sheila said with a bright smile from the doorway, arms crossed as her son buried his face into the pillows.

"I wanna sleep for a few more hours," he whined, curling into a ball as if it would make his mother disappear.

"A few more hours? You've got to be at your powder puff practice in three hours, you don't have time to sleep anymore, and you absolutely cannot skip it," she said firmly. Upon hearing of his joining the cheer squad for the home coming game, she'd become ecstatic that her son had found something to do after school, even if it was for only a week.

"Just another hour than, Mom?" he asked, yawning.

"No, sir! It isn't _my_ fault you decided to come home late," Sheila started, making Kyle cringe. He knew what was coming next, the accusations, twenty-questions. "Which reminds me, when did you get in, and I know it was sometime after one so you better not lie to me, mister. And where were you?"

Kyle sighed, sitting up in his bed, knowing he wouldn't be allowed any more sleep. Running a hand through his curls he looked up at his mom. "I was with Christophe, and got in sometime around three."

"With him, or at his house?"

"If I was at his house, wouldn't I be with him?"

"Don't be catty with me, Kyle Broflovski!" Sheila said, one hand on her hip, a finger pointed at him like a disobedient dog.

"Sorry Mom. Seriously, though, we were at his house watching a movie. It was pretty late when it ended, but it was left on a cliffhanger so I had to watch the sequel. I would have called, but I didn't want to wake anyone up," he lied, smiling apologetically.

"Well what movie was so important you had to stay up so late?"

The first sequel movie he thought of was _The Lion King_, but knew if he spouted that his mother would catch the lie.

"Uh, _Ocean's Eleven_."

Sheila just looked at him, eyes narrowing to a hard stare before she exhaled, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"Okay, Booby, I believe you, but you've got to get up now, none of this 'mercy on me, Mom' stuff. Go to practice early, go see Stanley before his party, or why don't you go get his gift?"

"Can I go to Christophe's?"

"But you spent almost all night with him!" Kyle blushed furiously, pulling his blanket up to his eyes to conceal it. Sheila gave him a look before sighing. "Fine, fine, do whatever you want, as long as you take Ike to his friends house."

"So I get to drive too?"

"Yes, now get ready."

As Sheila left his room, Kyle hopped out of bed and did a victory jig before digging into his dresser for something to wear. Kenny had advised the team to wear something lightweight, but bring a jacket just in case. He changed into deep green swish pants, and a black long-sleeve pinstripe shirt before jumping up and down, deeming the clothing indeed satisfyingly lightweight. Looking through his shoes he grimaced at the lightest pair, black Converse. Kyle disliked them for several reasons 1) abuse of the arch of a foot, 2) they did little to keep snow from the foot, and 3) they rubbed blisters on the heel.

"Oh well," he muttered, grabbing them. "It'll just be for a day." He began to slip them on, than thinking better of it taped his heels, and then put them on. Standing he grabbed his usual orange coat before walking out of his room, not bothering with taming his bushy hair, to be assaulted by Ike.

"Kiley, come on!" Ike said, grabbing his brother's arm and desperately trying to drag him to the stairs. It didn't take much for Kyle to shake him off.

"Whoa, dude, hold on."

"But I wanna go already!"

"I want to brush my teeth, jeez, hold _on_," Kyle growled, rolling his eyes as Ike tugged at his shirt.

"But—"

"Kick the baby," he said, grinning wickedly, taking Ike by the shoulders and getting in the position that he was frightened of. The Canadian's eyes widened as he squirmed from Kyle's grasp and ran down the stairs, squealing:

"Don't kick the baby!"

Laughing the redhead made his way to the bathroom, and upon looking into the mirror noticed the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. Sighing he scrubbed at his teeth, tasting blood as the bristles cut into gum. He ignored Ike's mewling from the top of the stairs as he spit out pink foam, his bottom lip burning in the place that had rubbed raw from being habitually bitten. He barely had time to rinse his mouth before Ike grabbed his arm and pulled him from the bathroom.

"Come on!"

"Maybe I wanted to swish, Ike," Kyle said as his brother jumped on his back, producing an "omph".

"You can only last five seconds before you start to tear up, so I know that's a lie," the Canadian said happily as he was transported to the ground floor.

"Bye Mom, we're leaving," Kyle shouted as Ike grabbed the keys and opened the door, still being carried.

"Have fun you two," Sheila replied as Ike closed the door, and finally was dropped. Kyle snatched the keys away from his younger brother and slipped into his mother's red Nissan Altima, cheering silently to himself. He'd only been allowed to drive his mother's car a total of five times since he had gotten his license a year and a half ago, so being able to drive it without argument was surprising.

Ike jumped in as Kyle turned the ignition and buckled up. It was only a matter of minutes before they were on the road, driving in the direction of Ike's friend's house. Steering with one hand Kyle popped in a _Taking Back Sunday_ CD, cranked the bass, treble, and volume up, much to the Canadian's joy.

At the first stop they came to Kyle dialed Christophe's number, and told the French boy he'd be there in about fifteen minutes. Christophe had replied simply, "drive safely" before hanging up, ensuring them both Kyle wouldn't be distracted and kill himself. It wasn't until Kyle was about to turn off onto the residential road that Ike's friend lived on that his brother spoke up.

"I'm not supposed to be there until around eleven-thirtyish."

"What? You're kidding?" Not receiving a response Kyle sighed, driving up another half-a-mile to turn off to Christophe's neighborhood. "I am going to kill you one of these days for being a scheming little heathen, Ike, I swear I will."

Kyle pulled his car up on the curb of Christophe's peach coloured house, finding it easier than trying to back up and not take out the mailbox. Shutting the engine off he tucked the keys into is pants pocket, got out and walked up to the door, ringing the doorbell without waiting for Ike. Christophe answered, leaning down to kiss Kyle in greeting until he saw the black-haired Canadian. Quirking a brow he invited them in, closing the door with the heel of his boot.

"You brought your bruzza?"

Ike glared at him but didn't speak. Kyle whacked his brother in the side, hands on his hips, ignoring Christophe. "Don't be a jackass, Ike, or I'll take you home." He jumped as Christophe wrapped an arm around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

"Now why is your bruzza 'ere, _mon cher_?"

"He tricked me into think I was dropping him off at his friends house before I came here, though I don't know why he wanted to come," Kyle replied, blushing as Ike just stared at the two of them quizzically.

"I wanted to see you two," Ike finally admitted, feeling slightly awkward at viewing his brother being embraced by another male.

"Oh, so you're a little voyeur," Christophe commented absently, taking Kyle by the hand and leading him into the living room. Ike followed like a puppy, and settled in a chair opposite of the couple. "Well now, with your bruzza 'ere it certainly limits the zings we could be doing."

"Just ignore me," Ike said, inspecting his fingernails for uneven edges with false interest, anything to keep from seeing the couple.

"Zat is quite 'ard when you are trying your utter damndest to ignore us, but end up looking anyway, _petit connard._" Ike glanced up, eyes narrowed. If looks could kill, Christophe would have been dead ten times over. "What did you call me?"

"Zat doesn't matter," he replied nonchalantly, uncurling himself from the couch and stalking toward Ike, reminding both Broflovski brothers of a cat on the prowl. He slid behind the chair Ike occupied, a finger entwining in the child's hair, tugging. "Come, let us see what I've got to entertain you in my room." Ike bolted up as his hair was tugged harder, giving a yelp and went to slap Christophe, but found his wrist caught in the action. Before he could recoil from the French boy's touch he was being drug off toward the stairs and up them.

From over his shoulder Christophe called down to Kyle. "Eat, _cher_, if you came 'ere directly you must be 'ungry." Of course Ike couldn't tell if his brother took up Christophe's offer, because he was ushered into the mercenary's room and found the door shut behind them. He watched the brunette wearily, backed up to the bed and sat on the edge.

Christophe leaned against the closed door, watching his unofficial boyfriend's brother cheerfully. The Canadian seemed uncertain of being alone with him, nervous under Christophe's inquisition, and miffed about the whole situation.

"Now zat we are away from Kyle, why exactly did you lie to come 'ere, little one?"

Ike gave him a dirty look, but seeing Christophe unfazed he merely sighed. "I really did want to see you two, you know, to see if you guys clicked or whatever."

"Go on."

"Look, I just don't want to see Kiley dicked around by some French jerk, got it?" Ike growled. "I just wanted to make sure that you weren't really some self-absorbed prick that couldn't care less about Kiley, and trod all over him."

"You are very aware zat I am a male, yes?"

"Duh," Ike replied, rolling his eyes in a dramatic fashion. "So?"

"Most…'omosexual relations are frowned upon."

Ike fell back into the black sheets of Christophe's bed, exhaling heavily. "Yeah, well, he's gonna need some support in this deal, if you guys to take it somewhere, and I can tell with how happy and puppyish Kiley is it's going somewhere."

"'e 'as 'is friends for moral support."

"I meant _family_ support, douche. Mom will fucking castrate you both when she finds out, and Dad won't care because he's accepting like that. But real support he won't have, so I'm just being the good brother here."

"What do you feel about zis?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Don't give me zat crap," Christophe snapped. Ike sat up on his elbows, looking the fierce French boy over. "If you are going to support Kyle in 'is decision, zen you 'ad better actually want to, not just for some 'family support' sheet, got it?"

Lips curved into a smile, making Christophe scowl. What he didn't know was that simple defense showed some sort of liking to Kyle.

"I can't say I'm completely for it, but I have no problem with it. I mean, Kiley is happy, genuinely happy, and I haven't seen him like that since he was in tenth grade. And you, well, I can't really judge you since I don't know you. But from what I've seen, you don't have any bad intentions."

Christophe smirked. "None zat a little boy should zink anyway."

Ike grimaced, grabbed a pillow and threw it at the brunette, who caught it easily. "Ew, sick dude!"

"Yes, well," he mumbled, tossing the pillow back and opening his closet. "What kind of video games do you like?" Ike gave a short list including _Super Mario_, any first-person shooter games, racing games, _Simpson Hit and Run_, and the infamous _Halo_ series. While he shorted through his belongs for the gaming console and games Christophe asked, "Why 'asn't Kyle been 'appy for two years?"

"In tenth grade he went out with this girl named Alice, a really pretty blonde chick. They were inseparable, worse than Stan and Wendy. Kyle was totally head-over-heels in love with her, then one day she just dumped him for no reason," Ike said, fluffing his hair. "Or at least he never told us why. He was miserable for two days, then just perked up and tried hiding it all, did a pretty good job too. But for a good year he wasn't the same, I mean he acted the same but there were the subtle things that made Kyle Kyle that weren't there, like his blushing habit."

"Ah, so I'm not ze only one to notice his rabid blushing," Christophe said as he pulled a Game Cube from the corner of his closet, along with a small stack of games. "Come, let's go find Kyle."

---

Leaning against Christophe's shoulder Kyle kicked his feet up onto the arm of the couch as he watched a pixelized Italian riding a dog-like lizard jump platforms, avoiding "game over" drops into oblivion. He still wondered why crappy-graphics and a simple plot of "kill the turtles, eat the mushrooms, don't touch the spikes" was still as popular as it was, but realized that _Mario_ and _Pacman_ were just a few of life's simple pleasures.

However, with nimble fingers playing with his ringlets and Christophe's body heat radiating at his back, it didn't take long for Kyle to become disinterested in his brother's game.

"So are you coming to Stan's party tonight?" he finally asked, bouncing the toes of his shoes together in a Dorothy fashion.

"I wasn't planning on et."

Kyle tilted his head to look at Christophe, and managed to get his hair unintentionally yanked. "Why not?"

He unwrapped red curls from his fingers before petting it back as flat as it was. "_Une_, I do not know Stan very well, _deux_ I am suppose to go see Gregory later this afternoon, and _trois_ I don't want to distract you from your best friend's party."

"Distract, what do you mean 'distract'? _You_ totally cannot distract _me_," Kyle scowled, swinging his legs over the couch properly and sat up to glare meaningfully at Christophe, who just grinned coyly.

"I zink I can."

"Prove it."

Christophe lifted a finger and tsked, shaking it. "_Non, non_, not when you can toughen your resolve." Kyle huffed, crossing his arms with a pout, but only managed to get his cheeks pinched, causing him to blush. He shoved Christophe, beginning an all-out tussle, ending only when they were on the carpeted floor, along with half of the pillows from the couch scattered about them.

"Fine, if you're not going to the party at least help me brainstorm for gift ideas," Kyle said with a sigh, looking up at the brunette from his lap.

"I already told you, _cherí_, I don't know Stan zat well." Noticing the redhead about to remark on that, Christophe placed his forefinger to his lips. "But you 'ave got to remember et is 'is eighteenth birzday, and come zis time next year you might not see each other ever again, not to be dis'eartening. Ze only zing I can zink of is a goof gift, and zen somezing zat 'e can use in ze future, or somezing 'e's always wanted. Or maybe somezing to really get 'im zinking, remembering."

Kyle had let out a low whistle at that. "Damn, are all of you Frenchy's so smart?"

Before Christophe could answer Ike had informed them both they needed to leave. Before they could say their proper goodbyes, the Canadian had drug Kyle out of the house, and they were on the road to his friend's house. In the two minute drive there Eric had called to inform Kyle that practice was cancelled for 'personal reasons", although Kenny could be heard quite clearly giggling in the background to reruns of Terrence and Phillip.

That didn't bother him though, because it gave him more time with Christophe. They sat playing _Super Mario_ and _MarioCart_ for the remainder of the day, breaking from their vegetative state in front of the television for food and bathroom breaks only. By the time Kyle had to leave to pick up a present for Stan and go home to get ready, it was six 'o clock.

The whole drive home Kyle had been grinning like a fool, only the thought of Christophe blowing Gregory off for a day with him running through his mind. And it was then it dawned on him there was a lot more than just physical attraction between them.

---

Pulling up to South Park's only banquet hall, the Capok Tree, Kyle couldn't help but feel impressed. The Marsh's had rented it out for Stan's party, so he could do whatever he wanted without their house being in risk of danger. They'd planned a small get together with his parent's and older sister until around ten when they'd leave and the _real_ party would begin. For admission into this second party you either had to bring Stan a gift of some kind (cash preferred), or an alcoholic beverage.

Kyle got out of his mom's car and locked it out of habit before strolling up to the two story white building. Pushing open the large oak double doors he looked around, laughing at the sight. The usual white globe lights that circled the ground floor and second floor wrap around balcony were flashing red and blue to the bass of the music playing, the _Gorrilaz_. Ivy wrapped columns that kept the wrap balcony from collapsing were now equipped with active strobe lights. From the banister of the said balcony and grand staircase leading to the second floor were replicas of icicle Christmas lights, except where the bulbs would be were tiny capsules of glowstick-like fluids. Directly across the room Randy and Sharon Marsh fiddled with refreshments packed tightly on tables stretched out across the whole wall.

"Heya turd, how've you been?"

Kyle startled, turning to look at San's older sister, Shelly. She no longer sported headgear, or even braces, and resembled the typical college student. Since last he had seen her two years prior her hair had gone from below the shoulders, wavy, and highlighted to her natural red-tinted brown, just above the shoulders and neatly layered. Even with the low cut, baggy long-sleeved shirt and flared jeans her womanly figure was easily recognizable.

"Pretty good, what about you, Shelly?"

"Minus college, my stupid roommates, stupid work, and stupid boyfriend? Smashing," she replied, grinning and reaching a hand out. Kyle flinched, instinct telling him he was about to be punched. Seeing his response she laughed, smacking him lightly with the back of her fingers before touching his hair. "I thought you straightened it."

He grinned as well, remembering the year and a half he had invested in several straighteners. "Became too much of a hassle, and once I washed my hair and it got curly again, it was all frizz."

"Could have told you that, turd," she said with a chuckle, tousling his hair. "The other turd is upstairs having hair problems of his own, why don't you go help him?"

"'kay." He handed the gift he had bought to Shelly and trotted up the stairs, wandering to the bathroom to find Stan rinsing the front of his hair out at the sink, not watching the mirror. Smiling Kyle took the opportunity, placing his hands over his friend's eyes and leaned again him, imitating Wendy's high-pitched voice. "Snookylumpkins, guess who."

"As wonderful an imitation, Kyle, there are two round things missing from your chest that would otherwise be rubbing up against me right now."

Laughing the redhead pulled away, grabbed a fluffy hand towel from the rack and tossed it at Stan's head. He rubbed his hair to mere dampness and sighed, running his hands through it. Stan looked at his reflection, grimaced, and shook his head, hair spiking in his usual messy manner. Kyle smiled; tons of the guys at school would _die_ to know how Stan did his hair, and it was as simple as wetting it and shaking it out.

"Stanley, get your ass down here, your other little friends have arrived!" Sharon shouted, and the boys laughed.

"But _Mom_ my hair—"

"If you turds don't come down here right now, I'll come up there are rip your balls off with my bare hands!" Shelly yelled, playing her role. They giggled, linking arms and walked down the stairs in a wedding-like custom. Kenny snorted, grinning as Cartman just rolled his eyes.

"You guys are _so_ totally gay."

"And that's why he's dating me, right Eric?" Wendy asked from behind the fat boy. Stan gave a little 'whoop' and jumped the remaining five stairs to the ground, running over to Wendy and spinning her some while she laughed. In the process he unbalance Kyle, pitching him forward, where he would have met the marble floor rather intimately had an arm not grabbed him around the waist. Looking up he saw Eric, and sputtered in shock. Eric, Eric Cartman had saved himself from a possible broken nose. Even Kenny seemed shocked.

"Whoa, dude, you care!" the blonde yelled gleefully, punching Eric in the arm

"No, I just don't want Jew-boy here breaking his damn face and then the party being called off 'cause he's too much of a pussy to fall down a set of stupid stairs and come out unharmed."

Kyle sighed, standing on his own. Even if they were mutual friends, Cartman only did things to benefit himself. He was the win-win situation; you could be married to him—and may the Gods help you if you are—and there would be no gallant rescuing if his skin was in danger. You just had to except that with Cartman to get along with him, which was most likely why Kenny was such good friends with him.

He looked around, finally noticing the handicapped Senior Marsh wasn't around. They'd all given up on him dying after he ate a salad made of Nightshade and only had symptoms that the doctors had been reminded of Viagra.

"Hey dude, where's grandpa?" Kyle asked as Kenny continued to give Cartman Hell.

"Oh, yeah, he didn't want to be around a bunch of 'lively sonsuvabitches' so he stayed home. Plus he didn't want to be reminded of the fact he's lived for an extra ten years with the whole family together and shit," Stan answered, arms around Wendy's waist.

"Makes sense."

"Ay! When are you going to open your presents, hippie? I want fucking cake," Eric whined. They all rolled their eyes, but agreed that now was better than ever. Shelly piled the presents on the stairs where they all reclined, including Sharon and Randy. Eric handed the birthday boy a gifted wrapped in blue shiny paper. "Here, mine first!"

Stan eyed it wearily, but Cartman made no hint that it would blow up on him. Shrugging he unwrapped it to find a plain white box. Curiously he lifted the lid, and there was coal.

"Damnit fatass, it's not Christmas!"

Eric broke into laughter as if it was the most hilarious thing ever. After three minutes without breathing Shelly smacked him.

"Give him the real gift, turd."

Grudgingly Eric handed over a box of the same size wrapped in the same paper. Stan unwrapped it as well and lifted the lid. On top was a card that he ripped open, and two slips of paper fell out; tickets. Examining them he looked at Eric questioningly.

"They're tickets to my old theme park, retard."

"I don't have to take you, do I?"

"Fuck no! If I had wanted to go I wouldn't have kept the damn tickets, okay? Take Wendy, or Kyle, Hell take Mr. Hanky if you want."

Smiling Stan read the card aloud in Cartman's voice, "Hippie-Lover, have a happy fucking birthday, and you'd better keep that coal damn you! Never know when you need to _burn_. The coolest fucking friend you have, Cartman." Tucking the card and tickets back into the box Stan looked on, finding a picture framed of the four boys from the end of the summer, and a box of Slim-Jims, his favourite snack. "Thanks dude."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Next was Kenny's gift, consisting of three parts. He got Stan the new _Straylight Run_ CD, a _Gorillaz_ poster, and a box of condoms. At seeing the last part, Wendy had slapped Kenny, to which she received the comment, "Oh, you like it rough, huh?" This time when he was slapped, it was hard enough to hurt. Chuckling Stan thanked Kenny, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

"Here Stan, mine next," Wendy said with a smile, handing a gold shiny present over. He unwrapped it grinning as he looked onto a football signed by all the players of his favourite team. Instead of voicing his thanks Stan kissed her, and found that a silver ring appeared on his finger. He raised a brow reading the inscription of "StanxWendy Always".

"Dude, I thought I was supposed to give this to you."

"It's not an engagement ring, silly, it's a promise ring!" Wendy giggled, showing hers off. The raven-haired boy mumbled something along the lines of "I knew that" and kissed her again. Sharon and Randy went next.

"Stanley, we know you wanted you car back for your birthday, but we all know it wasn't exactly _fixable_," Sharon started.

"Yeah, I was the one on Vicodin for three weeks, Mom."

"Yes, well, instead of your old car we thought we'd get you that Sunfire you've been eyeing. Officer Barbrady happily dropped all charges, so we can go and get a new license made tomorrow, okay Stan?" Randy finished for his wife, handing over a set of keys.

Stan was literally bouncing up and down. "Is it that disgusting electric blue colour I love?"

"Yep."

Stan squealed, hugging his parents. "Oh my God, thank you so much!"

"No problem, son. And your sister's gift came with the car."

He pulled back, looking up at his smirking sister before she explained. "Interior completely redone, sound system customized for the ass you love in bass, fuzzy dice, plugs for the speed you turds seem to think you need, would've gone nitro if you didn't make it a habit of hitting things."

"Damn Shelly, you outdid yourself."

"You're welcome," she replied and poked Kyle. "Your turn."

He sighed and shared a knowing glance with Wendy. She smiled devilishly, waiting. Unknowingly he slipped a hundred dollar bill into his left hand as his right went to Stan's shoulder. Leaning in he kissed his best friend, lips curving into a smile as his left hand went to Stan's waist belt and tucked the bill there. When he pulled away his grin widened at the look on Stan's face, and the reactions finally came

"Oh dear." Sharon.

"I knew they were gay." Randy.

"Right in front of Wendy, you've got balls Broflovski." Kenny.

"Aw, goddamnit Jew-boy." Eric.

"Turds will be turds." Shelly.

"Didn't think you had it in you." Wendy.

"Whoa, dude, you didn't have to do that just to give me a hundred bucks," Stan finally said. Kyle laughed.

"Yeah I did, Wendy put up a bet against me." He glanced to the innocent looking Wendy, who hid her smile behind her hand. He handed Stan the rest of the gift, wrapped in a milky white paper. "Anyway, here." Opening it Stan stared at a lava lamp, blue.

"Sweet, I've always wanted one of these things." Kyle gave a small nod and handed him two other things, a book of some sort and a card. Flipping the book open he surfed through pictures of the two of them since preschool. They hadn't changed much, besides growing, sense of style, and hair length. Stan stopped on a picture of them in seventh grade, white spots decorating his jet-black hair. Shelly had gotten pissed and threw a cup of bleach at him. Where the chemical had touched, his hair had been turned snow white, and until it all grew out he had been reduced to wearing his hat again. He flipped until he got to a picture of them at the beginning of tenth grade, Kyle's hair straight with long layers, only enough to hint at a length change. Flipping some more he glanced briefly at an end of the eleventh grade photo where Kyle's hair was its naturally curly self with a lot more frizz, and then to the last picture of their current selves. Setting it in the pile of gifts he looked at the card and put it, unopened, in the pile as well; it was tradition.

They all broke group to eat cake, in which Eric sung his custom edition of Happy Birthday (Happy Birthday to you, you kissed the damn Jew, you're going to Hell, Happy Birthday to you). Afterwards they lounged around, talking about old memories past based around an issue on each of them; when Cartman was the fattest fuck ever, Kenny still wore his hood and died every few days, Stan projectile-vomited around his girlfriend, Wendy was attracted to Eric, and Kyle was a little less gay than he was now.

It was at nine they decided to open the doors to the party goers, and a little passed ten everyone was either drunk, high, or tripping. Kyle found himself the only one in the masses that wasn't sipping some type of liquor, puffing on a blunt, or enjoying LSD laced candies. He looked through the crowds for his friends; Kenny was positively smashed, and currently making out with brunette against the stairs, Stan and Wendy were nowhere to be found (rumour had it they were doing it upstairs), and Cartman was the tipsy DJ. Shelly was somewhere among the throngs of people, and the redhead had even spotted Kenny's dirt bag brother, Kevin, dancing and drinking life away.

Sighing Kyle pushed his way outside, and was thankful for the fact he parked on the edge of the road where he couldn't be blocked in. Thinking about his choices he got in and pulled off. He couldn't go home, his mother would wonder why he was back so early, and he couldn't go to any of his friends' houses since they were all back at the party. He turned on the CD player and sung softly with the _Taking Back Sunday_ disc. After a twenty-minute drive he found himself out of his car, sitting on the hood, in front of Christophe's house.

'_Why am I here? He's probably busy or asleep or something,'_ he thought to himself, but dialed the French boy's phone number from his cell anyway. The heavily accented voice of the Mole answered, sickening polite like anyone answering a phone.

"Allo?"

"Heya 'tophe."

"_Cher_? I 'ear no party in ze background, is somezing ze matter?"

"I've been captured by some unrelenting force that is currently holding me hostage," Kyle replied, knowing well that even if it was a joke Christophe would answer seriously.

"Where are you?"

"Out front." A click of the receiver being hung up and Christophe's front door opening was the only reply. He looked up in time to see something black fly at his head, and instinctually caught the object: a blanket. Christophe strode toward him, hands on his hips in a scolding manner.

"You are supposed to be at a party with your friends, not camping outside of my 'ouse."

"It's like a huge frap party now, and they're all shit-faced," Kyle said in defense, finding that he felt like he was talking to his mother. "Anyway, I _like_ being with you."

Christophe snorted. "Obviously, I 'aven't gotten to be away from you more zan twelve or so 'ours in two days."

"Well if you'd like me to leave—" Kyle was cut off by a real 'shut the fuck up' kiss that ended with him and the newly acquired blanket being drug toward Christophe's Impala.

"_Non_, I am razer glad zat you find my company a sort of reprieve, and zerefore we're going somewhere a bit more charming zan my front yard."

Kyle scoffed as he found himself snuggling into the leather seat of the Impala with the blanket wrapped around him. "You know I could have drove, right?"

"I did see your car, yes," Christophe agreed, accelerating. "But I didn't want to end up killed because my presence is so much of a distraction."

"I already told you, you don't distract me," he replied with a slight pout. "Anyway, I'm distracting you right now."

"No you are not, see my eyes? Zey are still on ze road, et is called 'multi tasking'. Most mercenaries know 'ow to do et quite well."

Kyle coughed, hiding his laughter. "You dig holes and break into houses, that doesn't take multi tasking."

"Maybe not, but on ze side if I've got a personal vengeance I'll do some assassination jobs." Kyle gaped, long enough that Christophe reached over and tapped his chin. Embarrassed he closed his mouth, but couldn't help but feel a bit shocked. "Come now, you can't say zat you 'ave never killed." Kyle thought about it, and found that the driver was correct, he had. Chinese mobsters, his old preschool teacher, and Trent Boyet when the blonde had gotten out of juvenile hall in ninth grade were a few classic examples. "Or at least people zat 'ave died because of you."

"Oh, well, that takes it to the hundreds," Kyle said with a sigh. "And hey, that puts you on my list of people that I've unintentionally killed."

"So et does." Christophe came to a stop and shifted to 'park'. He got out and grabbed another blanket from the back seat before laying it across the huge hood of the car. "Coming, _cherí_?"

Kyle got out and crawled onto the hood with Christophe. By the time they got situated they were both wrapped in one blanket, Kyle comfortably curled against the brunette, an arm around him and Christophe's hand playing in his hair casually. They sat like that for several long minutes, watching the dark waters of Terryall Creek swirl around patches of ice and rock before the redhead spoke.

"I think there's more to us than we're both willing to admit. I mean, people that are just physically attracted to each other would be feeling each other up, not happily content in the middle of fucking nowhere watching a creek and stars."

"If you would like to be felt up, please do not 'esitate to ask," Christophe replied, being hit in the stomach. He tugged at Kyle's curls, showing his annoyance at the physical contact. "What do you propose zen?"

"We make this official."

"You mean be _un copains_?" He received a small nod. "As in, we can interact with public displays of affection?" Again a nod. "Are you sure? You do realize sheet will 'it ze fan with zis?" A nod, accompanied by a sound of annoyance. Christophe tugged a chain from under Kyle's coat around his neck, bringing it into full view. On the end of the necklace was a silver ring. "Zan I shall agree once you explain to me what zis is."

Kyle jerked away, staring at him accusingly as the necklace dangled between them, suspended from Christophe's finger. Reaching around he unclasped it, letting it fall into the brunette's hand. Christophe examined it, running a fingertip across the inscription of the ring: Kyle & Alice, Forever and Always.

"Tell me about 'er, _mon cher_."

Kyle pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he watched the stars twinkle in the heavens. "Well, I loved her, I still haven't figured out why I did, be it for something she had or just out of desperation. She was a blonde bitch that acted sly and like one of the guys, but she was devious and had it in for me the whole time we were dating. And I'm not joking, the day she broke up with me was my damn birthday. She'd smiled that coy, impish smile of hers and said, 'Kyle, this has been the absolute worst six months of my life. You didn't really think a gorgeous, smart, popular girl like me really wanted a geeky little Jewish boy like yourself, did you? I mean, get a grip, I'd rather go out with Cartman than you.' I just stood there, reeling from what she said and asked her why. She'd replied, 'I was bet to do it, duh. The bet was to go out with you for six months and dump you on your birthday, for five hundred bucks. But, you know, you aren't worth five hundred, you're not even worth a hundred.' And she gave me back the ring you're holding and just walked away. When I went back to school two days later, she had the nerve to walk up to Kenny at lunch and ask him out right in front of me."

Taking a breath he rested his chin on his knees, tears pricking at his eyes. "Until Christmas the following year I was so self confident of everything I did, and her words just haunted me. Eventually I was convinced that I wasn't worth a penny, and she won. Kenny ended up dragging me fighting from that slump though, but sometimes I find myself wondering if she was right."

Christophe wrapped his arms around the redhead, pulling him close, resting his forehead in the auburn curls. "_Mon cher, ne parlent pas de cette mode, et ne me donnez pas qui regard triste. Ne soyez pas découragé, elle était une pétasse. Elle n'a pas su vous merveilleux êtes_."

"Christophe, I can't understand you," Kyle mumbled, blushing at the sudden embrace.

"Zat is ze point."

"So you agree with her," he replied angrily, trying to pull away, but found the French boy's grip tightened.

"_Cherí_, you can be so silly sometimes. How can you expect me to agree with 'er when you mean ze world to me? And don't be difficult and argue, if you didn't mean somezing, zen I never would 'ave risked my life for your stupid cause during La Resistence, showed you ze cliff, or even brought you out 'ere."

"Dude, you were attracted to me back in forth grade? Sick, get off." Kyle managed to pull away, slipping off of the hood at the same time and glanced at Christophe. "You've at least had girlfriends, right?"

"Well, yes, but none last more zan a week or so. Ze last was ze longest, nearly a month, but she tried to kill me because I bought a bottle of Ameretto and didn't share. She was a crazy fucking beetch," he said sliding off of the Impala as well. Kyle took his hand as they watched the swirling waters of Terryall Creek wash across the levvy.

"You've got to be kidding."

"_Non, non_ see?" Christophe lifted the edge of his shirt, showing off an impressive glossy scar slashing across his stomach. "Ze lunatic came at me with zis six inch knife, reminded me of some maniac yeti."

"How the Hell did you meet her?"

"Ah, well I met Elisabeth zrough ze lead mercenary in Florida on a mission. We needed someone zat could negotiate under cover, tap cell phone signals, and hack network passwords. It would've been much easier if ze leader 'ad done it 'erself, but she 'ad this view of 'pull ze trigger before cocking ze gun'."

"Oh, is that like covert specialist talk for acting without thinking?"

Christophe scoffed. "No, silly, et means she was trigger 'appy and would razer go in guns firing zen talk 'er way to ze 'eart without a death."

"Floridians are fucking nuts," Kyle muttered, shuddering at the thought of choosing to live in a swampy, hurricane-ridden place.

"Well yes, but zat Alice was pretty fucking nuts for willingly giving you up," the Mole responded languidly, gaining a small smile. Kyle pulled his hand from Christophe's and walked to the frozen bank, pulling the forgotten necklace from his pocket.

"You know, I think it's finally time to stop trying to salvage any goodness from my relationship with Alice. That was probably my worst mistake, but it at least taught me not to trust bottled-blondes," he said with a hiccuped laugh. Fingers curling around the chain and ring he chucked it into the water, satisfied only when it was heard hitting the surface and disappearing under it. "Later Alice." Turning back to Christophe he placed hands delicately on the brunette's shoulders before kissing him tenderly.

"Sorry for laying all of that emo crap on you," Kyle said, growing hot in the face as Christophe kissed his forehead.

"_Non, cher_, ze mere fact you feel trusting enough to—" he was stopped by another kiss, bewildering Christophe. When Kyle pulled back this time he gave a closed lip smiled that was all too secretive for the French boy's taste.

"What 'ave you got up your sleeve, Kyle?"

"_J'taime Christophe_," Kyle said softly, looking up at him from under his bangs. A hand slid to Christophe's chest before poking him. "And you're it." The Mole watched, entirely entertained as the redhead ran off down the bank of Terryall Creek, before bounding off after him. After all, everyone needs a five-second head start.

---

Sunday was spent with Kenny, figuring a good outfit to shove his little French boyfriend into for twin day. Kenny, however, came with a plan. The idea focused around a playboy getup, complete with a fuzzy tail and wrist cuffs. However when Christophe had come over later that day to see what they had come up with, he'd simply glared and threaten to throw them both out the window if they ever suggest he wear girls lingerie in public. Kenny made a few adjustments but kept the relative idea, until Christophe was as satisfied with the product as he could be. They'd both left, Kenny keeping his twin day outfit with Cartman undisclosed.

What Sheila didn't realize was that by taking the French boy in, she was helping her son's relationship along. Monday began homecoming week, with the ever-popular pajama day. The two had rolled out of bed together, grabbed a jacket, and went to school as-was. This was how everyone seemed to come, groggy from waking up five minutes before leaving for school, clothing tussled from sleep, except the girls that seemed to have actually brushed out their hair. The only people to came to school neat and proper were the Populars, who were too self-conscious to notice they were the only ones that didn't fit in. Among this crowd was Alice, daring to come in a shirt Kyle had given her when they had dated, and rubbing salt on open wounds even more by walking up to both him and Christophe.

"Hey there, Christophe, do you like the shirt?" Her blue eyes, rimmed in eyeliner and coated in eye shadow glanced to Kyle. "Kyle gave it to me."

"Oh, yes, so much so I'd like to 'ave it. May I?" he had asked with a sleepy smile that warned of danger from miles away.

"Oh, I can't it, means _oh so_ much to me," Alice replied sweetly with a melting smile she was famous for.

"Really? But you don't love 'im, never 'ave if I'm not mistaken. So why not let someone zat does love 'im 'ave et?"

Alice's eyes had widened, before narrowing in glee and turning to Kyle unmercifully. "I knew it, I knew you were a dirty, gay little Jew. The whole time you've been a disgusting, homosexual assrammer, haven't you? I knew-"

Alice's head whipped to the side as she was cracked across the face, hard enough to stumble into a few nearby lockers. Everyone had hushed to shocked silence, seeing Wendy standing where Alice had been, hand outstretched and red from the force of impact. "Don't you _dare_ talk about Kyle that way, you sleezy little bitch."

Made-up eyes tearing up, Alice had turned hatefully to the Testaburger girl. "What do you care, Wendy? You've got a good guy, popular, _straight_. Why stand up for this gaywad?"

"Why, let's see. Maybe it has to do with Kyle being my friend, and I'm not going to stand by idly while a two-timing whore belittles him for cleanliness, who he loves, and his faith. And I feel sorry for you, I really do. I'm compassionate, and if you didn't notice, Christophe wasn't taking to kindly to your insults either, and I'm sure his hit could have broken your neck."

Alice finally took the time to study Christophe, noticing how completely still and calm he looked, the usual smug smile gone, dark eyes missing the typical glitter. The only true outward sign that he was angry were the curled fist, knuckles white, blood seeping from the palms of his hands where nails had dug into them. Turning from the gawking crowd she had fled, both in disgust and fear. As the congestion of the hall died Cartman had appeared, patting Kyle on the shoulder and putting in his two-cents.

"Jew-boy, you've got an awesome sense of girls by their looks, but damn, you're fucked on personality. Stick with dudes unless you want to be dicked around."

Tuesday was _the_ day: twin day. Only the seniors took it absolutely seriously, almost as a life-and-death matter. If you were part of the graduating class and didn't dress up, you were considered a shame to the school, as well as if you dressed with an underclassmen. Even the Goth kids, who usually thought homecoming week was too conformist joined along, although everyone thought it had something to do with they'd get their asses kicked otherwise. So when the new couple made their way to the place they usually met up before homeroom, Kyle was shocked to see one of these Goth kids.

"Hey, what the Hell are you doing in our—Holy shit, dude! Stan?"

The raven-haired boy turned, smirking at them. He was dressed in a grey-green long sleeve shirt with bright green buckle flaps attached to the sleeves. The pants were typical Goth edition, black and baggy, with long green straps attached to the front two belt loops. However, the grey eye make-up that set Stan's icy-blue eyes off, and scarlet lipstick was what had the redhead sputtering for words.

"Cat got your tongue, Kyle? Or would it be, bunny?"

Kyle looked up at his boyfriend rather than down at himself, as they were both dressed the exact same way. The outfit consisted of a black _Playboy_ shirt thrown on over a white long sleeve shirt, slate grey pants that zipped at the bottom, producing a flap of black cloth that widened the leg, black bondage straps trimmed in white lace that crossed in the back, a one ringed leather collar, fluffy bunny tail, and a bunny ear headband. Kenny had rightfully named his creation "punky playboy bunnies".

"At least I'm not wearing make up," Kyle said, laughing as Stan's coloured lips pursed. Before he could say anything Wendy appeared, sporting a similar outfit to Stan's except the top was lowcut, pants were replaced with a long skirt frilled at the edge, and hooker boots climbed her calves.

"Hi guys," she said, giggling. "Nice bunny ears."

"Where is Kenny and fatass?" Stan asked, looking around the commons, spotting several other 'twins'. Tweek and Craig walked around in silver-heeled pumps, looking like they had stepped out of _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_; Pip and Damien looked like part of the mob, except more along the lines of mob-gone-sex-fetish; Bebe and Butters strutted around in something out of _Chicago_, but the two wanted weren't anywhere to be seen.

"They're probably skipping until the voting begins," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. Since the principle, Mrs. Teti, had seen the active support of every senior class, voting had begun on the best costumes, held during homeroom. There was no need to show off the outfits, as everyone knew each other in a class just under a hundred in size. After the votes had been counted, eight of the pairs would be chosen and paraded in the gym in front of their classmates for one winner to be picked. The final winners received plastic crowns, a carnation, and ten-dollar certificate for the school lunch.

As the bell rang this process began, and Kyle found himself comfortably sitting with his body against Christophe, circles being idly rubbed on the backside of his hand, in the bleachers of the gym. Stan and Wendy sat quite the same to their right, while Eric and Kenny had yet to be found. On the gym floor was Mrs. Teti pace, a microphone in her hand.

"Hello children! The graduating class, huh?" A collective mumble of 'fuck off' answered the cheery principle.

"Well as you know today is twin day! You guys sure do take it seriously, don't you?" Another grumble among the crowd. "Well why don't we just get down to announcing the finalist? If you're called come on down here and make a line!"

"Your school is weird," Christophe whispered to Kyle, rolling his eyes at the whole ordeal.

"You're accent is weird, so shush." The Mole huffed, but remained quiet.

The pairs were announced in the order of Stan and Wendy, Bebe and Butters, Alice and Porsche (wearing school girl outfits), Tweek and Craig, Christophe and Kyle, Damien and Pip, Kelly and Red (medieval wenches), and finally Cartman and Kenny. At the last announcement everyone balked.

"How the hell did they get finalist, no one has seen them!" Craig said defensively as Mrs. Teti looked around for the two.

"Well, perhaps we have a misunderstanding…"

"No misunderstanding!" Kenny's smug voice came over the speakers. "We're just about ready." Before anyone could question it, the lights went out, most of the girls screaming as dark set in the gym.

"What the fuck?" Kyle asked, crossing his arms and looking around blindly.

"Sorry, babe, but your cute little butt is going to have to move for me," Kenny's voice whispered against his neck, startling him enough to jump and hit the boy in the dark. "Damnit, Kyle, I'm not going to rape you."

"You'd better not," Christophe growled from somewhere to the right. Kyle felt his shoulders being grabbed as he was guided somewhere. He grumbled something, inducing a rich laugh from his boyfriend, who was the one guiding him. "You'll _love_ what zey 'ave planned, don't worry, _cher_."

The lights came back sections at a time, from the basketball hoops to the center of the gym. As the ability to see returned, cheerleading music began to blare, and finally when the last lights came on the two 'missing' finalist stood in the Cows uniforms, pompoms on the ground. Kyle found himself staring at the two in short pleated skirts and leggings, mouth open.

On the gym floor Kenny flashed a smile as the music built up with a dimmed synth rift. They both bent down in unison and took hold of their pompoms, standing slowly with the music, eyes on the ground, rears moving up first. As the music became louder they straightened, until it burst over the speakers and the two snapped upright.

"We're the South Park Cows, we'll make you proud, if you don't vote for us, than you can suck our balls!"

The routine seemed relatively simple, the usual bum-waving, four-step deal most cheerleading teams tried to sell. Of course the boys added gender-friendly moves such as the infamous air-hump and male grinding. It was about that time Kenny yelled, "Freestyle!"

"Kyle is a Jew, his Mom is a bitch."

The blonde put his pompoms to his mouth in mock shock. "Oh no!"

"I'm sure if you asked her she'd let you lick her cl—"

"Censored!"

"His boyfriend is French, meaning he's a dick."

"Oh really?"

"Fuck with him and he'll just shout…"

As if on cue Christophe yelled, "Sheet!" startling everyone around him. The 'cheerleaders' gave him an appreciative nod before turning to each other, Kenny's back now to the crowd. The music climaxed as Kenny sprinted toward Eric, who now was bent with his hands cupped toward the ground. The crowd's breath stopped completely as the blonde stepped onto Eric's hands, was lifted, and jumped simultaneously, doing a triple back-flip and landing facing the crowd, pompoms waving overhead. Cheers erupted as the music blared to a stop, and it was made quite clear who had won the competition.

At lunch the two strutted to the table, hips swaying, crowns shimmer on their heads. Kenny flashed them all a smile before stepping behind Kyle and wrapping his arms around his neck. "Why stay with Frenchy-poo now that there's a winner among us?"

The redhead batted him off, scowling. "There's always been a winner. Stan's the lead quarter back and pitcher, Wendy is the captain and start for the volley ball team, Cartman well, he's a loser—"

"Shut up you fucking Jew!"

"—I'm Valedictorian, and Christophe has access somewhere you don't."

Stan snorted, water spewing in a fine line from his nose. Wendy scooted away from her boyfriend, squinting in disgust, triggering Eric and Kyle's eye-rolling reflex. One would think after almost four years of constantly being vomited on, a little water wouldn't gross the girl out.

"You'd better be saying he's gotten into your pants, and then I'll have to ask, what's he got that I don't?" Kenny questioned, circling the table to sit with Cartman.

"I think it's what he _hasn't_ got," Wendy said from the corner, smiling devilishly. Seeing the blonde's confusion Cartman sighed and answered.

"That was an STD crack, my friend."

"Aw, that's just mean," Kenny pouted, stuffing a Snaky Cake into his mouth, bought with the winning money from the competition.

"Yeah, slapping Alice really made me a bitch," Wendy agreed, glowing.

"Old girl besides the point, when did you two learn to cheerlead?" Kyle asked, pushing his hair out of his face.

"Saturday and Sunday, dude, that's why we called off practice this weekend. And as a team, we'll be better," Eric assured, determination shining in his brown eyes. "And don't start bitchin', Jew, we _will_ be better, we've got more than two days to practice."

"Speaking of practice—"

Kenny looked up, staring at Kyle sternly. "Yes, you've got to come to practice, at least for the first part. We've got to see who can hold you without threatening to drop you on your head, since we all know Cartman is too much of a dick to."

Damien was the obvious choice, they found out that afternoon. Although puny looking, with Satan's blood running through his veins he was strong enough to lift just about anything without difficulty, as they tested this with Eric. Luckily in the air Kyle had learned to not fidget or off balance them both, or they'd find themselves pleasantly hitting the blue cheer pads, hard. On the third attempt of this the redhead stuck his arms out to the sides to keep proper equilibrium and made it quite clear if the Hellspawn looked up his skirt in the actual routine he'd be painfully castrated. Damien had just muttered a few unintelligible words as one of the basketball hoops went up in flames and said wistfully, "Please do try, infidel."

Kyle was released from practice several hours before it ended, much to the other boys' anger. However as Christophe marched into the gym, slapped a leash on the Jew, and drug him out sputtering curses, no one was willing to argue. It wasn't until Kyle was seething in the front seat of the Impala he decided to speak.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?"

"Driving?"

"I mean walking in there and dragging me out on this!" he said harshly, waving around the leash. He got a scoff as a reply.

"You were taking too long."

Kyle kicked the dashboard, growling. "You're going to have to stop that, it's the second time you've used that excuse."

"Et's not an excuse, _cher_, you were really taking entirely too long."

The redhead kicked the dash again, this time with his heel, making a loud 'crack' against the plastic. "Fine, but when we get home we're doing homework, _no_ arguments."

"What about studying? Can we do some of zat?"

"Studying is homework."

"Ze teachers 'ave a good taste in what zey assign us zen," the French voice purred as they turned right onto Lido Avenue. Without looking he knew the curled fist was heading toward his steering arm, and instinctually grabbed the tiny wrist. "_Non, non_, hitting the driver isn't safe, _cherí_."

Kyle yanked his wrist away, glaring daggers. "Your driving isn't very safe."

"I'm a perfectly safe driver, same goes to my motorcycling skills."

"You've got a motorcycle?"

"Why yes I do, zough I 'aven't ridden et because I doubt you'd feel 'safe' on et."

"Of course I would!" he replied vigilantly before realizing his mistake. "I mean wouldn't, wouldn't! With an 'en, apostrophe, tee'! Negative form, negative!" Christophe slammed on the brakes, sending Kyle whipping forward into the seatbelt before shifting to park. "What the Hell was that for?"

"Talking too much," the Mole replied dryly before getting out of the Impala. "And we're home."

"Ah." Kyle followed suit, grabbing his things and walking to the door where Christophe waited. He unlocked the door and ushered the brunette in before closing it and bolt locking it. "We're home! Is anyone here?" Silence followed them up the stairs, furrowing Kyle's brow in confusion. Usually Ike would be home, along with his mother. "Wonder where everyone is."

Christophe kicked off his shoes in the corner before falling back onto Kyle's bed. "Wasn't your muzza going to take Ike to ze mall? To get a new coat or somezing?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess you're right," Kyle replied absently, taking out his AP government book and flipping to the chapter page before setting at his desk. After ten minutes of furiously reading and taking notes on the main points of the _Plessy vs. Ferguson_ case he turned to Christophe, who sat watching the popcorned ceiling with mild interest. "Are you not going to do your work?"

"I'll do et before class, or during class."

"You'll fail doing that!"

"I'm in all AP courses anyway, I've got my 'igh school credits under my belt. Zat besides ze point, I won't fail, ze material is too easy and I already know et."

"How?"

"I'm French, we are intellectual geniuses," the Mole responded sheepishly, sitting up on his elbows to return Kyle's stare. "Anyway, I like _studying_."

"You're terrible," Kyle said with a sigh, rolling his eyes and standing. He crawled onto the bed, straddling Christophe's thigh, knowing that if he didn't get what he wanted, the brunette would reduce _him_ to begging. And of course being the French bastard he is, Christophe would deny Kyle what was originally wanted, frustrating them both in some fit of twisted amusement.

"I beg to differ, _cher_, you're terrible for letting yourself be pressured."

"But you, but I, but—"

To silence any complaints Christophe leaned upwards, stopping Kyle's vexatious chatter with his mouth. An annoyed sound was the response, as most of their kisses were the infamous "shut the Hell up, Kyle" ones. Placing his hands on the French boy's shoulders Kyle pushed him back onto the bed with a sigh.

"I do talk too much, don't I?"

"Just a little bit."

Kyle leaned back, making sure the older boy couldn't interrupt him. "You know it's sad that all of our kisses except two have been 'shut up Kyle' ones."

"Well, we probably would 'ave more not-shut-up-Kyle ones if you would keep your mouth closed and occupied with me, yes?"

"I hate you _so_ much."

Having forgotten his reason to hold the Mole down, Kyle's grip loosened, allowing Christophe to sit up and press their lips together. The Jew didn't object, although his cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as his boyfriend drew away, breath hot on his face.

"You 'ate me so much zat you let me do zat," Christophe said cockily, falling comfortably back into the pillows, satisfied by the blush that intensified.

"Bastard," Kyle replied lightly, mouth curving to show the insult had no meaning. He leaned over Christophe, hands going to either side of the brunette's head to support his weight as Kyle kissed him. It was gentle, unsure, as if the redhead thought something horrible would happen if he expressed more. Christophe smiled at the action, until he realized that Kyle thought _he'd_ push him away. Scoffing mentally he licked his partner's lips, tasting cherry lip balm as his hands skillfully unbuckled the Jew's leather collar. Blindly he tossed it across the room before carefully pushing Kyle upward. Seeing the hurt in those emerald eyes Christophe sighed, but smiled all the same; how could Kyle even think he'd reject him? Leaning upward he tugged softly on the redhead's hair, encouraging him to tilt slightly. As Kyle complied the French boy's lips met the pulse of his neck, tongue flicking across the skin. He shuddered at the contact, breath escaping in a hiss.

"Christophe, wha—what're you doing?"

"Zat should be obvious," he muttered against Kyle.

"No, no, off!" the Jew said harshly, shoving the bewildered brunette back into the pillows. "I _hate_ people touching my neck, it's creepy."

"So zat is why you always wear zat scarf." Receiving a nod he rolled is eyes, pushing back into a sitting position, and caught Kyle's hands before he was shoved back down. "_Non_, be nice, and let me give you a real reason to wear zat scarf."

An intake of breath was the only response as Christophe's mouth once again came in contact with his neck. However, this time teeth were used under the suction of the Mole's lips, causing a soft moan to trickle from Kyle's throat. After an excruciating thirty seconds Christophe drew away, looking at his handy work with a smug grin before his blushing Jew clamped a hand over the tender skin.

"Don't tell me I have a hickey."

"Don't be _dumb_, of course you do. I say et will be gone in, oh, three to four days."

Kyle gaped. "But it'll show in the cheerleading uniform!"

"Et's not like you'll be ze only one, silly," Christophe smirked. "Or if you're so very nervous about et, zen use some of zat foundation stuff girls use."

"I'll deal, I'm _not_ wearing makeup." With a mischievous grin Kyle grabbed the foreign boy's wrist, shoving him roughly back onto the bed, hands pinned above his head. Stunned Christophe could do nothing at the fierce display as he was met with a vicious kiss. The door of the bedroom swung open, and that's how Sheila found them.

"I'm back boys—Oh my God!"

Kyle shot upward, face both aflame and horrorstricken as he whipped around, falling from the bed in the process. His mother looked just as shocked and scarlet, except this wasn't from embarrassment. She pointed a threatening finger that shook in Christophe's direction, who scrambled into a sitting position, amazingly calm although his eyes were a tad bit wider than normal and darted around the red faced woman constantly.

"I _knew_ you were going to be a bad influence as soon as you said you were from the war! But I _never_ thought you'd go to such _extremes_ as to corrupt my son's fragile mind and molest him!"

A knot twisting in his stomach, Kyle queasily got his feet under him, shaking his head. "No, Mom that's wrong—"

"Shut up!" Sheila screamed, turning to face her son. Usual dark eyes had lit with some determined fire, making them seem more amber and clear; demonic was the word Kyle would use in the situation.

"But Mom—"

She stalked toward him, kicking the leather collar earlier discarded out of the path, the pudgy finger of submission seeming much like a gun. "Kyle Broflovski, if you ever want to see your sixteenth birthday you will _keep your mouth closed_, you hear me mister?"

Raising his hands in a feeble attempt of defense Kyle was amazed to find them severely quavering in fear. "Mom, _please_, listen—"

"_NO!_" she spat venomously, taking that one step over the edge. Kyle fell hard onto his backside, head snapped to one side where Sheila's hand print was flaring on his pale skin, making Wendy's outburst at Alice seem weak. Tears were soon visibly flowing down his face, voice lost at the hit. Noticing Christophe leap up and edge toward the Jewish boy, Sheila turned slowly with hate in her eyes.

"Get out of my house, I never want to see you near my son again!" Christophe froze at the words, but made no motion toward the door. "I said _GET OUT_!"

Looking apologetically at his boyfriend Christophe made his retreat, determined not to look back. He passed a terrified Ike at the top of the stairs as he left, fist curling and unfurling. Only when the sound of the Impala pulling out of the drive and down the black sounded did Sheila finally speak.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

Her son remained quiet, still on the floor, blurred eyes hidden by his bangs. The whole scenario seemed unreal, as if in a medicated state, not quite out of it but damn near. However the stinging pain on the left side of his face told otherwise; this was no dream, no twisted delusion. At the realization his nails bit into carpet, bruising the nail beds. "You're a bitch," a mumbled hoarsely through his constricted throat.

"Wh—wh—_WHAT_?"

"You're a self centered bitch that never learns, nor listens to a goddamned thing I have to say. So you know what? I quit. Get the fuck out of my room."

"Kyle Broflov—"

He glanced up, murder fresh in his own eyes. Of course, that didn't stop Sheila.

"You will talk to me, Kyle!"

He just smiled coldly, standing, and mustered the strength to do something he should have done years before; shove his mother out of the doorway forcefully and lock it before her while replying:

"Like Hell I will."

Ignoring her shouts and threats he fell face first into his pillows, screaming himself to release the anger. Once his throat was successfully sore Kyle fell into a fit of silent tears before the unearthly dream-like state wore off and the pure shock of it all had him asleep.

A room away Ike had also locked himself away, both in fear of his mother's boiling rage, and brother's wrath.

---

The next morning the French boy drove somberly to school, the radio playing softly to distract his mind of Kyle's absence in the passenger seat. He'd gone straight home and gorged himself in a conversation with Gregory, something he rarely did willingly. Keeping himself focused on possible jobs and enemies from his old school kept him distant from the new life at South Park High. His phone had flared to a LCD blue-screened life several times, the third he'd idly popped the battery pack from it. The Mole wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone vocally, too tired and even confused to mask the exhaustion his voice would give. The four hours of sleep he'd gotten had been fitful enough that at five in the morning he'd gotten up, cursing sleep.

He pulled into his normal parking spot, noticing Stan's new Pontiac two spots over. Taking a breath he grabbed his things from the back seat and went to find his new 'friends'. Luckily the night before he hadn't taken his bag inside of Kyle's house, or in his haste to leave he would have forgotten it there, like several of his belongings.

The boys and Wendy were in their normal spot in the commons of the West wing, Kyle missing. Upon spotting the brunette Stan waved a hand in greeting, but his brows furrowed noticing the Jew not with him. Seeing Marsh's confusion they all turned to Christophe, realizing why it was.

"Hey, where's Kyle?" Wendy asked before Cartman could throw out an insult.

"I 'ad to leave early to take care of business, 'e didn't want to wake up at zat time, so 'e said 'e would ride ze bus. 'e did not, I clearly see," Christophe responded casually, using the lie he had concocted on the drive to school.

"That's weird, he doesn't skip school unless something is really wrong, and his mother would kill him," Stan said, lips pursing.

"I guess I'll just go back to 'is 'ouse," the French one replied, disappointed that Kyle hadn't shown up. Then again, why did he expect him to after his mother's outburst? Turning away he started back toward the student parking lot, only to be stopped by a strong grip on his arm.

"I wanna go with you," Kenny said sternly.

"Kenny, you can't skip school, you're parents will flip out! Remember what happened last time you skipped?" Cartman asked with a snicker, showing his intentions weren't for the best. The blonde did remember, well. They'd all (minus Kyle, who was replaced by Bebe) skipped and went to the arcade to hang around, before hitting up the tavern. However, Stuart McCormick was there as well, and each of them were busted. Kenny had been grounded for three months, and to get the punishment through that alcohol wasn't what it was cut out to be, he'd been forced to drink a six-pack of beer. Unknown to Stuart, his son had thoroughly enjoyed the experience, except the tremendous hangover the next morning.

"Well I'm not going to a bar, fatass, now am I?" Kenny replied, rolling his eyes and dragging Christophe in the direction of the parking lot.

"You know, Kenneth, I think—"

"Shut your mouth, Frenchy," Kenny snapped as the stepped out into the frigid cold. "You're taking me along in this crusade, no questions."

Christophe exhaled deeply, leading them to his car. As they left campus toward Kyle's house he flipped the heater on, noticing the shivering blonde bouncing next to him. Silence continued as he lit up a cigarette, driving with one hand, and was relieved to not be bickered at, instead he found himself handing over a cancer stick to the passenger.

"So why are you tagging along?"

Taking a drag from the cigarette Kenny glanced at him knowingly. "Because you were totally lying back there, and you look like absolutely shit."

"Thanks."

"No prob, so what happened between you two?"

Letting the question hang between them he pulled into his garage, confusing the blonde. He got out, motioning kenny to do the same, who startled as a helmet was thrown at his head.

"What the Hell?"

"We aren't taking ze car," Christophe responded, pointing to a Harley-Davidson Night Train, pearl black. Walking to it Kenny let out an impressed whistle, knowing just by looks it had been customized to fit the Mole's needs. Running a hand over the drag-style handles he grinned.

"I've always wanted one of these things, I hear they're real chick magnets."

"Oh, zey are," Christophe replied nonchalantly, swinging a leg over the bike. Kenny just gave him an amused look.

"How would you know? You take it for your own team."

The French boy considered his answer. He could easily deny that by stating the girls he'd been with, but he knew better; they'd just been ticks on the hormonal rage of a male teenager, nothing more than that. So he settled with shrugging, and giving the other a coy look. "Oh, you've found me out, now I must kill you."

Kenny shook his head at the joke and settled on the bike behind Christophe, helmet still in his hands when he noticed the brunette didn't have one. He smiled; the brunette was either confident in his abilities to not get himself killed, or was suicidal. "So why aren't we taking the Pimp Mobile, again?"

"I can bet zat I own ze only '74 Impala wiz a Chameleon paint job, and considering zat Kyle's muzza 'as probably got ze neighborhood on a watch for et, et's not a good idea to drive ze zing."

He processed that comment before gasping in a dramatic fashion. "Oh my God, she caught you two, didn't she?" Noticing Christophe turn the ignition, Kenny quickly strapped the only thing on that could save him from instant death, waiting for the answer. It came by the driver revving the engine to warm it up and hitting the garage door opener, before peeling out onto the icy road.

Christophe felt his eyes begin to water and burn by the winds but shrugged it off, having been use to it. The blonde's grip tightened around his waist, hands trailing suspiciously low as he took a corner sharply. He sighed inwardly, wishing the one that was pressed in a fine line against him—and of course was still sliding his hands lower—was his redhead.

'_Why am I so…committed? Et's not like I've known ze boy forever and 'ave right to stealing 'im away. Oh, sheet, Muzza is going to fucking kill me when she finds out._'

He slowed as he turned onto Kyle's street, looking to make sure there was no sign of the Broflovski parents before pulling into the drive. Kenny immediately threw off his helmet and got off, a little wobbly.

"Oh, dude, that was sweet."

Christophe smirked as he followed the blonde around back, counting off the windows to Kyle's. Kenny trotted over to a flowerpot filled with white stones before assaulting the window with them. Cringing, the brunette stepped away, expecting the glass to shatter at any moment. After the eleventh rock Kenny gave up with a frustrated sigh.

"Damnit, either he's dead, in the bathroom, or not up there."

"Only one way to find out," Christophe said, walking toward the sliding glass door before being yanked away and toward the back door to the garage. "What are you doing, Kenneth?"

Kenny fiddled with the handle, shushing the Mole before slipping a blank plastic card into the groove of the lock. It unlocked with a click and he opened it, yet found the door gave only three inches before a chain lock stopped it. Looking around he grabbed a piece of limber from a pile and jammed the door so it wouldn't close.

"Why don't we just go in zrough ze garage?" Christophe asked, amused as Kenny stepped up onto the handle of the door and lifted himself up onto the top of the steel door. It didn't take long before the blonde was successfully on top of the garage, looking down at him over the edge of the roof.

"The door leading inside is dead bolted, I've tried it before. Anyway, it's more fun this way."

With a heaved sigh Christophe followed the lead Kenny had set, amazed the door handle didn't slip as he climbed on it. He was on the roof in no time, following the shorter boy across of it toward the window. Kenny stretched across the distance, not seeming to be worried that he could fall as he pushed the window open. He also didn't seem to mind that he was breaking-and-entering as he hoisted himself through the window and shoved the drapes aside. Again, Christophe followed, and felt a tinge of disappointment at not seeing Kyle.

However several items from the desk that had been neat before had been knocked off of it and into a mess on the floor. He glanced into the corner, noticing his things were still untouched. With a sigh he lay back on the bed, watching the ceiling like he had since Sheila had forced him to stay with them out of worry.

"Well, he's positively not here."

"No sheet."

"So, want to tell me what the bitch walked in on?" Kenny asked, making himself at home on Kyle's computer. As he waited for an answer he brought up Internet Explorer and scrolled through Kyle's favourites until he hit the redhead's Live Journal.

"Us, obviously."

"Were you two, like, fucking or something?" Was the next question as the blonde read through the latest entry, one that had been written the night before, or rather one that morning.

"No," Christophe snapped and took a breath. "We both still 'ad on clothing when she came in."

"So you guys were just kissing and stuff?"

"Yes."

Kenny continued to read through the orange font, expression remaining somber. "And what did Sheila do?"

"She just started yelling and she 'it Kyle."

Whipping around he stared at Christophe, brows arched. "You're kidding! She loves Kyle to death, she'd never hit him."

"Glad you zink so, but I saw et, before being kicked out of course." He sat up, looking around Kenny's wild hair to the screen. "What were you reading?"

Kenny turned back to the screen. "Kyle's journal." Without having to look he know Christophe was edging toward the computer to read as well, so he hurriedly closed out, receiving a growl of annoyance.

"And why can't I read et?"

"I can't be the one to show you it," he replied, turning to look at the glowering brunette. "All I'll say is it's about last night."

"I was zere during ze event, so why can't I experience et in text?"

"It's more than the event, only about a paragraph was filling people in on that, the rest is just personal."

Christophe snorted, eyes narrowing at that. "You read et, et's not personal."

"He's got it set to private so only a select few people can read it."

"I'm 'is boyfriend, I zink I've got rights."

"Maybe so, but I'm not going to be the one that shows you this and pisses Kyle off. He might be bashful and shy, but he's violent when angry, and pretty good with guns."

He let out an aggravated sigh before reaching to the computer. Kenny watched like a hawk as he brought up Word and typed a swift note: Cher_, don't tell me your mother is burying you somewhere. Call me? _Hiding a smile Kenny added, _Kenny was here, whooo! Where're your playboys, Broflovski? They've gotta be here somewhere._

"Let's go," Christophe said, climbing out the window. The blonde turned the monitor off and followed, smirking at the next comment. "Oh, and you're not getting ze helmet for depriving me."

---

Kyle showed up for powder puff practice after school. He'd planned on locking himself in his room and playing on his computer, but finding the note on his computer had changed his mind. He showed up seven minutes after the squad started warm ups, stalking into the gym, ignoring the thick silence and lack of movement from the other boys. Kenny had turned angrily to where they were all looking before sputtering.

"Kyle, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"What did Jew-boy do to his hair, you mean!"

A hand went instinctually to the auburn curls, which now had two black streaks in it, framing his face. He grinned sheepishly as he walked over to Kenny.

"It's dye, fatass, and I'm here because of practice. However, I'm going to have to leave a bit early," he said, giving the blonde captain a knowing look.

"Stan, you can get off early if you take Kyle home."

The quarterback, shaking off his initial shock, gave a nod. "Sure."

Practice went relatively well, and on the way back home Stan didn't ask questions of his absence from school. He got back home before his parents, and went straight to his room after grabbing a few snacks. Everything was perfect.

So why did he break down into tears?

---

After his homework was finished, dinner had been consumed, and he'd showered Ike made his way boldly to his parent's room. He passed Gerald in the living room, watching the evening news, and was stopped by a look.

"Don't you think you should give her some time, Ike? I mean, it's only been one day, I don't think—"

"Sorry, Dad, but _your_ room isn't next to Kiley's, _you_ don't have to hear him being all emo and sobbing, _I_ do. Sure, you may have to sleep in the same bed as Mom, and that has got to be Hell at the moment, but seventeen year olds should not have to lock themselves up and cry all the time."

Gerald smiled and nodded. "Good luck then."

"If I'm not back in thirty minutes, I'm a goner.'

Ike walked up to his parent's door, took a deep breath, and tentatively pushed it open. Sheila sat stiffly, watching TV from the bed; she didn't even grace him with a glance.

"Mom—"

"I don't want to talk right now, Ike," she snapped, cutting him off.

"You can't run from this Mom, you're problem is under the same roof as you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

'_Fine, play the defendant, play hard to get, but I ain't leaving this room until I get through to you_,' Ike thought to himself as he walked farther into the room.

"I'm talking about Kiley, Mom, and Chr—"

"Don't you dare say it!"

He sighed. "You can't sit in here and seethe forever, pretending you didn't see what you did."

She turned to him, flipping the television off, eyes glowing dangerously in the dark. "And what was that, Ike?"

He met that gaze unscathed. "Kiley kissing a _boy_, Mom. What's the big deal, anyway?"

"I will not have my son going to Hell because of some child molester corrupting his morals!"

Ike laughed and was shot a look that could kill. "Mom, they're basically the same age! You've got to stop babying Kiley, he's going to be off to collage next year, are you going to tell him who he can and can't date then? Let him do what he wants, or when he gets the chance he'll be in Europe somewhere, distancing himself from you as much as possible. You don't want to be one of those hated parents because you sheltered him too much, do you?"

"Ike, you have no jurisdiction in the matter, you're the child here!"

"You can't live his life for him, or we'll get his door unlocked one day and we'll find some emo self-mutilating kid 'dying in a pit of despair'. I think you need to see something."

"I don't think so, hun."

He growled, turning, hands placed firmly on his hips. "It's his online journal, Mom. Maybe if you read what he's got to say about it all, you'll understand a bit better before you go and make him completely miserable."

Sheila narrowed her eyes but complied, following her younger son up the stairs and into his room. Much to his delight she said nothing about the mess and clutter as he brought up his brother's journal, and read the entry for the fifth time over his Mom's shoulder.

_My face hurts, whether it be from the blow I received from unsettling circumstances, or crying I don't know. I'm too tired to hide the fact I have been crying, although I've slept; it's an emotional exhaustion that sleep just can't cure. Perhaps it's bes_t _if I brief you on the events._

_I _am _together with Christophe, I won't bother trying to cover that up either; I'm quite transparent around such things. My mother has been keeping him here because his own mother is out of town, and she was worried. An afternoon when no one is home but two lovers, what would any couple do? Of course we misjudged the time, and Mom waltzed in at a rather intimate time. Let's just say he was thrown out, I was viciously yelled at, and I locked myself in my room._

_That all happened around fiveish, it's now one in the morning, and I'm reeling. But the funny part is I feel so, well, hollow right now, almost as if it was all a bad dream. Except Christophe isn't snuggled on my bed, nipping at his thumb in his sleep; it's not something I imagined. Mom really did kick him out, she really did redirect my life._

_She really did fuck up this time._

_I know, it's silly that I've let myself become so attached in a few weeks, but I have. Maybe after the Alice incident I just became emotionally dependant, clinging to the first good thing that came to me. The first good thing to really lighten up my life, and make me humbly put her to rest, you know? But I have. Here comes the cliché! I genuinely love being in his company, just watching myself taking a beating in _Mario Cart_, playing around out in the middle of fucking no where, annoying him about his accent. It's all the cute little things he does, the nicknames, that smug smile when he knows he's got me won over in something, the way he's overly protective of his extremely chubby cat and sings to it habitually, and how he can quote from _Donnie Darko_ at any given moment and it actually fits into the situation. Wow, that was a big run-on. _

_Does this mean I'm in love with him? I don't know if I should run for the hills at this new turnout to my sexuality, or embrace it wholeheartedly. I really wanted kids, damnit, but I suppose this could just be a phase. And is it sad that I really hope it's not "just a phase"? That I actually really wish this might go somewhere other than the toilet?_

_I've said _j'taime_ to him before, but at the time it was a joke. If I happened to say it now, would it be? It's only been four days since I said it and I'm taking myself seriously now. Damnit._

_Then I happen to wonder what he's thinking right now, if he's in the same turmoil I am. I've tied to call him, but he won't answer, either he's just rejecting everyone's calls, or he's angry with me. I seriously fucking hope not. If I wasn't in deep shit already, I'd go find out, but I'm sure Mom wouldn't be too happy. Which brings me to her. I'm not mad at her, or at least as much as I should be. I'm just…disappointed. That she loved Christophe, and then would do this. I can't say I was expecting her to be completely open with the idea, but I thought she'd be at least grudgingly willing to accept it. Guess I was wrong there, heh._

_It hasn't even been half a day and I miss him. Oh, God, I hate teenage hormones, I'm crying again. But it's a good day, no one has died._

_Fuck, that isn't even funny._

_What do I have left? Stuff he left in his haste to get out of the line of fire, and a rather prominent love bite. Until I need to see sunshine again, that's enough._

She read it over again for the words to settle in, and a third time before it really hit home. Sitting back in Ike's computer chair she huffed, crossing her arms. "And how is this rubbish supposed to sway me?"

"You're so difficult Mom," Ike said with an aggravated look before clicking the comments button and scrolling down to one "sMARSH1913".

_Dude, so that's why you weren't with Frenchy this morning, and were so quite on the way back from powder puff! Why didn't you tell me? Okay, okay, that's not helping any. I'm gonna say the same thing I've been saying for years: you can't let your Mom rule your life. I mean it's nice to have dependency on your parents sometimes, sure, but you've got to stand up to her if you feel so strongly about something. I mean, Christ, you're seventeen dude! Are you really just going to stand back while she takes this from you? Kyle, don't be stupid._

_And as for the "does this mean I love him?" thing, let's just say you're hooked on him :3 And you shouldn't worry about what he thinks, dude, he's totally hooked on you, too. It's really unfortunate you don't see the way he watches you sometimes; oh, gag me for saying that. But really, when you fight with fatass and stuff your nose into your homework there's certainly pride there, and of course there's those moments that's so sickeningly cute that it starts the chain of "aw" reactions from nearby girls._

_I think I'll stop now, but dude, don't give it up if you don't want to. Oh, call me! Or I'll kill you :D_

"And what does Stan's comment have anything to do with this?"

"It means his friends are more accepting than his own family, Mom, and that Kiley has their support before ours. That's sad, it shouldn't be that way."

Sheila turned to face Ike, seeing a mass of determination. What got to her the most was he was doing everything in the defense of his older brother. "What do you propose I do then?"

"You don't have to accept it completely, but you can't be a raging bitch about. You've got to give Kiley his space to make his own decisions."

"And how exactly am I going to do this?"

Ike broke into a wicked smile, baffling Sheila. "Oh, I thought you'd never ask."

---

Christophe woke the next morning, now Thursday, grumbling as _Mad World_ by Gary Jules played steadily from his phone. Half asleep he looked at the clock—5:45 am—and stumbled to his desk where the evil piece of technology was still ringing. Picking it up he answered with a yawn.

"This 'ad better be good or I'll fucking kill you." So much for pleasantries.

A boyish giggle on the other end confused him, and angered him more. "Morning Christophe, it's Ike."

"You have ten seconds to persuade me not to 'ang up on you."

"Oh! Well, we need you to come break into Kyle's room and get him out, you know, doing the Moley thing."

He leaned his hip against the desk, growling, "We?" The voice that answered startled him into awareness.

"Christophe, it's me, Mrs. Broflovski. I'd like you to entice my son from his room, as the Mole you see."

Ah, so that was it, he wouldn't be going as the boy she'd caught and thrown out, but as the hand-for-hire. He sighed, it figured she wouldn't welcome him back with a smile, but he couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment at that.

"When would you like me to come over?"

"Before school starts this morning would be nice, I want him to go today."

"Alright, I shall be zere right away."

"Thank you."

"Mm." He hung up, running a hand through his messy hair. How would Kyle react when he found out it wasn't Christophe coming to a gallant rescue, but the Mole? And would be know the difference?

The answer was simple: no.

As he got ready to leave, he smiled smugly; he'd go in as the Mole, but once that door was open, he wouldn't be the mercenary.

---

It was a quarter after six when he arrived and was ushered in by an agitated looking Sheila. Ike stood ready by his mother's side, as if he'd be the shield between the two. He chuckled at the thought as he bent down in front of Kyle's door and slipped a small, black leather zip book of lock tools from his pocket. Settling in on his heels he took a few of the tools from the set and began to fiddle with the lock.

"Kyle, you're going to school!" Sheila said firmly from behind him. Christophe hid a smile at the mumbled curses he heard behind the door.

"I don't have to leave for almost two hours, go away."

"Don't take that tone with me, mister! You will come out when I say."

"What tone? The one that says, 'hey, I'm sleeping, go the fuck somewhere else'?"

Sheila huffed diligently, a growl escaping her. "Kyle, don't make me come in there!"

"What're you going to do, saw off the door knob? Have at it."

The brunette pulled back from the door as the lock clicked and put away his tools quickly as Sheila pushed passed him and opened the door. Kyle rolled over in his bed, squinting at the sudden light that filled his room.

"What the Hell?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes before freezing. His mouth hung open as Christophe walked into the room, smiling slyly, a brow arched at his newly streaked hair. "Christophe? Wha—Mom? What's he dong here?"

"Hm? I don't see Christophe, this is someone I asked to kindly unlock your door for me, the Mole. I'm sure you've heard of him?"

Kyle swung out of bed, stalking to the smug bastard, glaring. "Don't tell me you're my Mom's tool, Christophe." Silence was the only answer. Snarling he lifted a hand and swung it at the French boy's face, only to have his arm knocked harder in the direction it as going, and his equilibrium set off. So he was pleasantly amazed when his face didn't meet the ground, instead was held upright by two strong arms around his waist.

"You're so cute when you get all huffy," Christophe muttered in a sing-song voice into his curls. He looked passed Kyle to Sheila and said, "Of course I'm not your muzza's tool, I came 'ere quite willingly for my own purposes."

"Mom, what do you have to say about this?" Kyle asked uncertainly as he placed his hands over Christophe's.

Noticing the action her lips pursed and she let out a frustrated breath. "You're not going to give up this silliness, are you?"

"No."

"Then what choice do I have? I don't want you to hate me for not accepting your choice, Booby, and I don't have much ground to tell you how to live and who to love. Though I'll tell you now I'm not pleased with this turnout."

Kyle smiled and broke away from Christophe, hugging Sheila. "Thanks Mom." She returned the embrace and ruffled his hair, eyeing the black streaks with distaste before leaving.

"Oh, and get ready, I wasn't joking when I said you're going to school."

"'kay." He waited until she was gone before bending down to Ike's eye level. "What did you do to get these results?"

"I presented my argument well, which makes me glad Dad's a lawyer," he replied with a smile. "And I showed her your journal entry so she could get a grip on how you were taking it."

Kyle grabbed his brother, giving him an exceptional noogie. "Damn, Ike, how can I thank you?"

"Lemme go, lemme go!"

The redhead released he distraught little Canadian with a laugh and watched his disappear into his room. Turning back to the pensive brunette he sauntered over, hands on his hips. "And you, why are you here?"

"Because I'm your boyfriend and missed you?"

"Lying gets you no where."

Christophe shook his head at that, tucking a stray strand of now black curls behind Kyle's ear as he rested his forehead against his lover's. "I do not lie, _cher_."

Kyle just rolled his eyes but went those few centimeters to capture Christophe's lips. This time along with closing the door, they locked it.

---

Friday came quickly, flourishing South Park High in a fit of green and white. Spirit day was the most rambunctious of Homecoming week, where every class was shortened to fit an almost two-hour long pep rally in at the end of the day, along with Spirit Games. The only one from the group in the bleachers during the pep rally was Kyle; Cartman and Kenny had been asked to perform with the normal cheerleading squad, Wendy and Bebe were part of the volley ball team, and Stan pranced out with the football team. But that didn't bother the redhead, he got bonding time with Christophe, even if it was among the whole school.

Home coming court was announced, and it wasn't a surprise whom made it for their class. Like always Stan and Wendy were announced first, than the girls of homecoming (Alice, Porche, Bebe, Red) and finally the boys (Craig, Kenny, Token, "agent" Tucker).

The senior class managed to win the Spirit Games, holding the title for the first class to win four years in a row. As a reward for winning, they were permitted to leave school half an hour early, but the powder puff squad stayed for extra practice for the game that night.

An hour before the game started the boys all met in the locker room for a meeting. They crowded into an area as the captain and co-captain paced before them.

"Alright girls, our job is to both look and amuse the audience, right?" Kenny asked which he as replied with a "Hell yes". "Well, when guys go out to watch cheerleading they want nice, clean girls shoving off their asses, right? Cartman, bring the first task."

Eric disappeared into the coaches' office before returning with two boxes. He pulled out the contents, silencing the cheerleaders by shock. In his hands he held Venus razors and foaming gel. "No one wants to see us out in skirts with fluffy legs, and we've all got to match. You retards might have noticed Kenny and I shaved for the twin day routine, so you have to as well."

"Before we do that though, there's a second task we've all got to do. Looking around at some of your fellow cheerleaders, you might notice some have hickeys." At the mention of it Kyle blushed, but wasn't the only one. "If we're looking alike, and some have hickeys, we all need them. So find yourself a someone that's willing to help you out if you don't already come equip with a love bite, and I'm always willing." Kenny winked at the last remark. "Now grab yourself a razor and shave away, or you'll get the hot wax treatment."

As they all regrouped to grudgingly follow the captain's orders Kenny walked over to a cringing Kyle, whom hid in the corner.

"Come on, Broflovski, you don't want to be the only fuzzy one of us, do you?

He glared at the grinning blonde. "I want to keep my leg hair, thanks."

"Do you really?" He received a nod. "Cartman, get over here! We've got a fighter."

Eric wandered over, muttering obscenities under his breath and grabbed the redhead as he tried to dart off. Clyde and Tweek grabbed the struggling Jew's legs as Kenny led them into the office, and proceeded to duck tape him to a rolly chair like a hostage, after removing his pants of course. All the time he screamed, attracting a few amused looks as the boys shaving outside wandered in for bandaids.

"Kenny, oh my God, don't you dare put that stuff on me!" Kyle shrieked at seeing a tub of Nair. The captain just grinned impishly while he edged closer. "Kenny, I'll pay you, anything you want! I like my fluffy Jew legs, I really do! Please, Kenny, have mercy!"

Kenny seemed immune to the pleading as he applied some of the hot wax, grin spreading, resembling the Cheshire Cat. "All I can tell you, Kyle, is that the girls have a running bet on you screaming, as they all assumed since you were the only one really left in the dark about this shaving thing, that you'd struggle in the matter. So try not to and help me win." It was then he slapped a piece of Nair wax paper on the goo and yanked.

Kyle bit his tongue as tears pricked at his eyes. Five minutes into it, and one calf down, he screamed every curse he knew at the blonde in English and Hebrew.

How did girls do it?

---

The stadium lights blared on as the South Park Cows entered, followed by the powder puff team and mascot. The cheerleaders rushed passed the girl football players to the track, facing the bleachers as they began their opening act. Kyle took a breath, listening as the words of the chant fell off of his tongue, although he wasn't paying attention to them, but rather getting the dance steps right.

"Come on crowd get ready, 'cause we have just begun! To prove to you once again, why we are number one! Green is our—" Kenny was lifted into the air by Eric and shouted:

"—strength!"

"And gold is our—" Kyle was lifted above Damien, ankles secured by the anti-Christ and yelled:

"Power!"

"White is our spirit!" At this line the two flyers were thrown upward to aid their jump as they did several spinning back flips, before landing parallel to the ground by the spotters. They quickly got back onto their feet and in line to finish.

"G—Get on your feet, let's hear it! Yell 'green—go!'" The squad pointed their pompoms at the bleachers.

"Green, go!"

"Gold—fight!" the cheerleaders said, again pointing at the crowd.

"Gold, fight!"

"White—win!"

"White, win!"

"Put it all together you get 'go fight win'!"

"Go fight win!" the crowd shouted in unison before breaking into applause.

The North Park Cows then entered the stadium, and the opposing side erupted into cheers as their cheerleaders put on a show.

"Are you ready, ready for the best? North Park number one, oh yeah nothing less! Going to the top," here three of their own flyers were lifted. "We can't be stopped. Let's go girls! Yell 'blue'!"

"Blue!" As the crowd yelled one flyer did a spinning jump.

"Yell 'gold'!"

"Gold!" Another, this one was less elaborate than the last.

"Yell 'white'!"

"White!" The last flyer was the captain, and did a rather impressive jump.

"North Park cows, oh yeah, let's fight! Can you feel it? What! Feel the heat, blue, gold, and white; how sweet! With spirit and spark, we steal the show! We're North Park Cows! Kiss kiss, gotta go." Cheers shook the visitor bleachers as the girls went out onto the field and got into position.

As promised Kyle as dismissed as the "special weapon", but told to stay close incase they needed him. With a nod he slipped through the gate and up into the bleachers where he was congratulating for a "good job not killing himself" and found Christophe in the top corner by himself. He sat down on the edge of a blanket the French boy provided, glad that he'd been smart enough to bring it, and wrapped up in a thick coat Christophe handed him.

"I see you shaved," he said with a quirky smile, running a hand across Kyle's pale, and sore thigh. "And everyone out zere 'as love a love bite, so Kenneth followed my suggestion." Snorting in amusement at the still shivering cheerleader he slung an arm around his shoulder, pulling the blanket around them both, causing Kyle to blush.

"Aren't my parents here?"

Christophe shrugged. "And if zey are? I do not care, do you?" His reply was a swift kiss, causing a few glances from people sitting lower down, but overall there was no argument.

"Hm, I guess since Mr. Garrison and Mr. Slave got together again, the town is rather accepting," Kyle muttered as the brunette waved a canteen in front of his face. "What's in that?"

"Raspberry wine."

"You're so naughty, 'tophe!"

"Maybe a little," was the reply as Christophe opened it. "You know you want to try it."

Kyle recoiled, swatting at it. "Not really, alcohol is disgusting, and I doubt Damien would appreciate me puking all over him."

Christophe snorted, shaking his head. "You wouldn't even vomit drinking a whole bottle, there's not that much kick to et, and I'd like you to know et taste perfectly fine, now try."

Grabbing the canteen he took a swig, amazed at the taste. Instead of being bitter and disgusting like the things Kenny gorged himself with, it reminded him of fruit juice, or maybe a Capri Sun.

"Hey, it's not bad."

"Told you."

Kyle contently sipped on the wine, watching the girls tackle each other, and in a few cases saw hair being pulled and skin scratched by nails. The powder puff squad danced around below, shaking their rear ends to remain warm. Surprisingly Tweek was the booty-dancing king, and several members of the audience were shouting at him to "shake his love maker". It was about that time Kyle dropped his head onto Christophe's shoulder, feeling a bit tingly around the edges.

"You're going to homecoming with me, right?"

Christophe was glad the redhead couldn't see his expression, one of pleasant mirth, tinged with regret. "I cannot go, _cher_, my muzza is returning tomorrow, which is why I'm not staying ze night, remember?"

"So?"

"She would not be pleased seeing me taking a male to ze dance."

Kyle shot up then, eyes narrowing at his companion. Christophe forced himself not to smile at the clouded look in those green eyes, pupils beginning to dilate already. "But we got through to my Mom! Christophe, please…"

'_Aw, ze alcohol really gives 'im a kitten look, but 'earing my name means I'm in deep sheet_.'

"My muzza is worse zen yours is, she candy-coats everyzing and kisses God's ass, I don't…Kyle, are you crying?" He balked as rivulets began to pour from his boyfriend's eyes. '_Whoopie, 'e's an emotional drunk_.'

Kyle buried his face into Christophe's shoulder, not noticing the North Park cheer directed at them (G-A-Y, South park ain't got no alibi, they gay, look look, they gay.) "I don't want to go through what we did at the beginning of the week again, I really don't, please don't do this."

The French boy laughed into his hand at Kyle's actions, it sounded so much like breakup, something from a cheesy soap opera. He made a mental note to never allow the Jew to consume alcohol again. However, even knowing he was being hypocritical by not wanting to tell his mother, he knew her best and what she'd do. Kyle finally sat up and pawed at his eyes.

"I'll be with you, 'tophe, it won't be bad."

If only he could believe his little under-the-influence redhead. But he knew it'd be fruitless to argue with him and sighed. She'd find out anyway, right? "Alright, _cher_, I shall pick you up and you can meet my muzza."

"Yay.' He fell back against him, this time closing his eyes and snoozing. Kenny had wandered over at the winning touch down to convince Kyle to do the final routine, but seeing his condition had just laughed and done the stunt himself. The Broflovski's made their way to them as the girls squealed in glee at the win on the field to take the eldest son home. At the sight Ike had broke into a wide grin, and even Sheila found herself cracking a small smile, making Christophe warm. He carried the redhead out to Sheila's Nissan, not even waking as he was placed in the backseat, falling onto Ike's lap. Christophe didn't dare explain Kyle's unconscious state, afraid he might just get run over. He waved them off before leaving himself, to recreate the spotless shrine that his house had been before his mother had left.

---

A little after two Saturday afternoon Noémie arrived back from France and stepped into her house shouting in her usual custom, "Christophe, I am home Christophe! Where are you?"

"In ze living room, Muzza," he answered dryly a room away. "Arrange yourself, I 'ave somezing I want to talk to you about."

Noémie frowned slightly at his lack of courtesy, but was use to it; lack America tradition! She did as he said and drug her things upstairs to unpack, dumping the dirty laundry into the washer and starting a load. Walking back down stairs she checked the dust amount on the banister, finding it clean and polished, along with making sure the collectable angel sculptures decorating the house were as well kept. With a nod of approval she went to confront Christophe. At the sight of his mother he flipped the television off and stood, kissing her on the left cheek, right, and left again; silly French traditions! She looked him over, satisfied of his appearance except the increasingly dark circles under his eyes and spiky mess of his hair. Frowning she reached up and attempted to flatten it down, receiving a growl from her son.

"Muzza, stop zat!" Christophe said with a scowl, swatting her hands away. "I like my 'air as et is."

"But et is so messy, love! Don't you ever comb et?"

"Do my fingers count?" he asked sheepishly, being tsked at by the question. They both settled onto the couch, Noémie crossing her ankles and sitting upright, lips pursing at her son's slumped posture. "So 'ow was ze trip? Is Aunt Isabelle and Arianne alright?" The one he wanted to ask about he knew better; his father was someone that did not exist in their household.

"Oh, zey are very well! Your cousin was quite upset zat you did not visit as well, and became very moody about et. And your aunt thought et unfortunate zat you stayed behind as well, but sent for you a bottle of _Clos de Vougeot_."

Christophe nodded appreciatively; Aunt Isabelle lived in the town of Vougeot, which was conveniently placed in the Burgundy section of wine industries. _Clos de Vougeot_ happened to be one of the best red wines produced in the area. "And what did Arianne decide to send e zis time?"

"A razer beautiful sweater."

"Et's orange, isn't et?" Taking the smile as a 'yes' he scowled. "I 'ate zat colour, 'asn't she figured zat out yet? I'll just give et to Kyle."

Noémie tilted her head in question. "Kyle, is 'e someone you met in school?" A nod. "'ow darling! Speaking of school, 'oe 'as et been? Not too 'ard, easy? No one is making fun of your accent, right? Should we 'ome school you again?"

"No, no, most people find et charming, and no. You said I needed to work on my social skills, right? Public schooling does et perfectly." He gained a tittering laugh at that. "Oh, and I shall be gone tonight."

"Oh? Why?"

"I am going to ze 'omecoming dance, Muzza." She made a small 'o' mouth, a hand placed delicately to her lips.

"You 'ave a date?" A slight nod, as if uncertain. "Wonderful! I get to meet 'er, correct? I do 'ope I get to."

Christophe leaned forward, placing elbows on his knees and ran a hand through his hair in that position. "Zat is what I wish to talk about."

"Don't be silly! I am completely accepting of zis, razer overjoyed actually."

"But Muzza—"

"_Non, non_, I don't want to 'ear anyzing about et. When will you be leaving, and getting back?"

He sighed, so much for getting through to her before hand. "Ze dance is at nine, but I'm leaving to pick up my date at six-thirty. Zen we'll come back 'ere and finish getting ready, zen go out to dinner wiz ze ozers. And I don't know when we'll be back, before dawn presumably."

"Well zen go get ready! _Hâte, hâte_, you've only got four hours."

"Muzza—"

She grabbed his hand, shushing him and inspected his nails with a frown. "Et'll take hours to get zese even and shined, plus your 'air! _La hâte, disparaissé_!"

Christophe forced himself toward the bathroom, biting his tongue to keep from saying something that would get him into trouble. She'd been home for a little over thirty minutes, and he already wished she'd fly back to France.

---

Christophe picked up his date at six-thirty exactly, and was met by quite a sight. Red curls looked especially luminous, the ringlets loosened to create more of a wave than a mass of frizz. Kyle wasn't particularly formal, in beige slacks, a black turtleneck sweater, and black blazer, but then again it was a semi-formal. As he hopped into the Impala the driver swore he saw a hint of silver eye shadow, and had to smile.

"What the Hell happened to your hair, 'tophe?"

He reached a manicured hand up to it while glancing at the side mirror. His mother had taken an hour testing styles, poking and pulling, trimming, lathering the spikes with a rainbow of hair products. After all of her work Noémie settled with fingering moose into it and combing it forward with quick strokes of her hands to get a feathered look, and styled his messy bangs to one side. Christophe detested it, and promised to fluff it to the normal look as soon as they left for dinner.

As he drove, Christophe ran over the plan. Kyle could tell his usual sober boyfriend was on the nervous side by the way he gnawed on the filter of his cigarette and continuously was touching his hair, but he could understand why. Unlike with his mother, whom had been forced to acknowledge them, Christophe was about to walk in and willingly admit it. '_Takes real balls to do that_,' he thought with a smile, watching the snowy roads pass by.

With the speed Christophe was going, it didn't take long to get back to his house. Kyle was waved into position by the stairs before he said loudly, "Muzza, I'm back."

"Alright Christophe, I'm in ze kitchen." Kyle muffled a nervous laugh behind his hand at the familiar womanly voice.

"Well I am not, obviously, so some into ze living room," Christophe answered, tugging at his hair in anticipation. There was no way he was going to tell Noémie his date was male when she was near knives, he wasn't that crazy. She pranced out from the kitchen, wiping her damp hands uncharacteristically on her pants before lacing them behind her back. She met her son in the living room and leaned against the armrest of the couch, waiting.

"Well? I'd like to see 'er, love."

"Muzza, promise not to yell."

She gave him a queer look before nodding. "_Je promets_."

Christophe took a breath and exhaled as he went to get Kyle from his perch on the stairs. He gained a smile that said, "Don't worry, it'll all be alright" as he laced his fingers with the Jew's, more in an attempt to keep his hands from his hair more than anything. He returned the smile, a little uncertain, and walked back to confront his mother; what did he have to lose?

Noémie looked between them, brows furrowing, eyes becoming heated. "Christophe, tell me zis is a joke."

"No Muzza."

She stood, waving a hand back in the direction of the kitchen. "I zink we need to talk," she said a little strained.

"No, I'm not leaving 'ere."

"_Nous parleons ici._"

Christophe shook his head, clutching at Kyle's hand a little more tightly. "Don't do zis, Muzza."

"_Ce qui? Vouz avez pensé j'accepterais ceci?_" she asked, pacing, arms crossed.

"_Non, je pas_. _Mais Kyle a pensé que vous, et j'ai voulu rendre il heureux_," he replied evenly, though his eyes narrowed in the beginnings of anger.

"_Vous êtes juste comme votre père, un bon pour rien pédé_!"

"_Je ne suis pas comme Papa! Je ne vous ai pas laissé quand j'ai eu la chance_," he said, gritting his teeth, too caught up in his mother's ignorance to notice Kyle was staring at the ground, shaking. Not knowing French he was out of the loop, but he knew the conversation couldn't be good.

"_Il n'importe pas_!" Noémie said loudly, waving her hands for emphasis. "_Vous datez toujours un garçon._"

"_Il a pris le risque, et est venu à vous. Si ce n'est pas louable, je ne said pasce qui est._"

She took a deep breath to steady herself. "_L'aimez-vous_?"

"_Il est peu un tôt à dire_," he replied calmly, watching his mother continue her rapid pacing, alert in case she decided to get violent.

"_Ne me fais pas avaler ça! L'aimez-vous_?"

"_Oui, Mamen_."

"_As-tu perdu l'espirit? Ah, je n'y crois pas_!" Noémie moaned, covering her eyes with her hands and shaking her head.

"_Mamen, arrêt. Vous n'en aidez pas. Il n'est parle pas français. Pouvez-vous, sil vous plait, penser à ce que je veux_?"

She turned, studying the redheaded boy for the first time, realizing her mistake. He wasn't watching either of them, instead the ground, and was trembling. She sighed, releasing the tension and walked carefully to him, placing a hand under his chin and lifting. He startled, eyes a bit too wide as he found himself looking straight into Noémie's chocolate eyes. She noticed the glassy look to his own eyes, as if he was fighting some internal turmoil.

"I am sorry, little one, I should not 'ave done zat to you, et wasn't fair. Can you forgive me?"

Kyle stared at the sympathetic woman, shocked she was being so humble after the display. He nodded, voice lost. Christophe smiled, anxiety gone, thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand.

"Zank you, Muzza."

Noémie merely kissed his cheek and smiled. "I shouldn't compare you wiz your fazza, as annoying as you can be, you are much too nice to be 'im." He didn't respond to that, knowing his father had had his reasons to leave. His mother just continued to smile, although it was disheartened as she trotted off, returning a moment later with a camera. "I want pictures at least."

They took several photos, good quality ones and gag ones before engaging in a long, serious conversation about France and _The Land Before Time_ movies. They came up with a new lot consisting of the little Triceratops Sarah becoming a slut and taking care of Littlefoot's Grandpa while in a coma, and eventually doing it with him. Littlefoot also became Sarah's husband, and she had a child that was Grandpa's. They also confirmed that Stegosauruses cannot possibly reproduce with the spikes running down their backs when the doorbell rang, and Christophe answer it. A moment later he called out from the front of the house, "Kyle, I need you to come 'ere for a second."

Kyle excused himself and went to see what the brunette wanted, to find Wendy on the front stoop bouncing up and down as if cold in a deep blue gown. He waved and smiled at Christophe's confusion. "Remember the whole idea of me kissing Stan for his birthday, and being bet by Wendy? Well, my prize was a prepaid spot in the limo with you."

"Pleasant," the French boy said, tousling his hair. "Muzza, we're leaving!"

"'ave fun you two!" Noémie called from the living room as they tramped out to the black limo and climbed in. The only two there besides the couple so far were Wendy and Bebe, the ladder dressed in a crimson dress, curls pulled up into an elaborate bun.

"So which one of you is the girl in the couple?" Bebe asked unexpectedly, causing Kyle to cough into his hand, choking. Christophe cleared his throat to keep from laughing and pointed to the redhead behind his back.

"Why are you asking?" Kyle finally managed to inquire after turning a fierce shade of scarlet from lack of oxygen.

"Because one of you needs to wear a corsage, duh!" The two girls giggled at Kyle's blank expression. "And I'm guessing it's going to be the one on _bottom_."

"And I'm guessing it's Kyle," Bebe added with a wink, the boy in question blushing furiously.

Christophe pulled a sapphire coloured carnation corsage from behind him and strapped it to Kyle's wrist. Luckily he ended up planning this touch with Wendy a day before, and savoured the darkening colour of Kyle's cheeks.

"Not fair, we were caught with me on top."

"Oh well, you're ze shorter one."

The girls broke into another fit of giggles as they picked up Stan, Cartman, Kenny, their dates, and Clyde. They ate at Denny's, much to the waiters' and few customer's amusement. The girl's threatened them all if anything got on their dresses, someone was going to die, and they believed it. The limo pulled up in front of the school ten minutes early, but they were admitted in the gym despite that fact, finding several couple already mingling with singles. They all split up, the girls skipping to the dark area of the gym to dance along with the techno music, the boys grumbling.

Kyle felt Christophe lean against him from behind before his breath as hot on his face. "And what do we do at 'omecoming again?"

"Dance, mingle, eat snacks, screw around, some couples choose to sneak out and get busy in the bathroom or outside."

"Very nice," Christophe whispered, making Kyle blush at the suggestion in his voice. "I zink I'm going to get some punch, want some?"

"Sure."

He unwound himself from the Jew and walked off to one of the only lightened areas, the refreshments. Kyle turned to find a place to sit and wait, to be met with the sight of Alice in a showy, gold dress stalking toward him, and he knew all Hell was about to break loose.

She stopped a few feet from him, her gang of girls forming a wall behind her. "So, where's your boyfriend, Kyle?"

"Around," he replied nervously, looking around for anyone he knew, only to find groups of underclassmen.

"Oh, so you two really are a couple? How peachy."

"What do you want, Alice?"

"What makes you think I want anything from _you_?" she asked, receiving snickers from the girls behind her.

"Let's see, you haven't talk to me since the 'breakup', and now suddenly are?"

"You are so naïve, Broflovski," Kenny said from behind him, startling the redhead. The blonde narrowed his eyes under his combed bangs, hands on his hips. "She wants Christophe, don't you Alice? I've seen the way you glare at them, and you've always sneered at Kyle, until Christophe came. You want Frenchy all for yourself, you jealous bitch."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"You know it's true, you're girls know it, every senior knows it, except Kyle here," Kenny replied, stepping up to Kyle's side and smirked. "And you can't accept the fact you were rejected by him for Kyle, the very boy you 'broke up' with."

"Shut. Up."

"Karma sucks, huh, babe?"

Alice flung herself at Kenny but was caught by Lexus and held back. Out of all of the girls, she was the most sensible, and actually knew what sympathy was. Christophe sauntered up at that moment, handing a plastic cup of punch to his boyfriend, raising a brow at the struggling blonde girl.

"Did I miss somezing?"

"Alice ganging up on Kyle," Kenny said, smiling gleefully at the foaming Popular.

"Oh, well zen, I guess ze best zing to do is walk away," he replied, draping an arm across the confused Kyle's shoulders and being lead in the opposite direction.

A howl erupted behind them. "I'll kill you Kyle Broflovski!"

"You'll 'ave to get through me first, beetch," Christophe called over his shoulder, flipping her off as they disappeared into the crowds to a corner of the pulled-out bleachers. Kyle drank his punch in a few gulps, wringing the cup angrily.

"She asked you out?"

Christophe nodded, watching Kyle's work on the cup. "Yes she did, before you told me about 'er. I declined though, obviously."

"Why? She's the top dog at this school."

"Zat does not mean she is a good person, or zat I would be attracted to 'er. Anyway, as I told you before 'and, I've been attracted to you since ze war."

"Yeah, I know," Kyle said, shuddering in disgust. "Hey, do you have your cigarettes with you?"

"Yes, why?"

"I'm a bit stressed right now, and heard they do wonders."

The brunette pulled the pack and lighter from his pocket, handing them to Kyle. He took one out and toyed with the lighter, hesitating to light up. "You have permission to shot-gun it if I end up trying to die."

"You know, I really didn't like zat ozer experience, I'm not sure I want you 'acking in my mouth anymore."

Kyle sighed at his boyfriend plucked the instruments of death from his hands and returned them to his pocket. "Damnit, I'm too chickenshit to smoke, and to stand up to Alice. I'm just a pussy."

"You are you."

"Why the Hell are you with me again?"

Christophe cocked his head, watching the boiling green eyes stare him down. Reaching out he touched Kyle's face with his knuckles softly, smiling genuinely. "Because I realized somezing when talking to my Muzza."

"What was she saying anyway?"

"Mostly just 'ow et is wrong and I'm acting like my Fazza, but 'e is a good man, despite Muzza's claims," he replied a little sadly, retracting his hand. Kyle's anger turned to puzzlement as he placed his corsaged hand on his thigh.

"Tell me about him."

"Zis seems utterly familiar, but instead of me spilling my thougths et was you, and instead of being in ze gym et was at Terryall Creek."

"Come on, I want to know."

"Fine, fine. Anyway, Fazza got Muzza pregnant and 'e ran off to 'is boyfriend , fearing commitment on such a grand level. So she tried an abortion, which was ze whole 'she stabbed my in ze 'eart with a close'anger' thing from ze war. Afterwards she was kept in ze 'ospital to be watched so she didn't do et again, and Fazza beetched 'er out about trying to get rid of zeir child. So she 'ad me, and 'ated 'im for leaving 'er for a guy. Zey're still 'appily togezer, Fazza and 'is boyfriend." He took a sip of his punch. "She's always been a bit paranoid zat I might turn out to be like 'im, you know, gay. And so et turns out I 'ave."

"But you've had girlfriends."

He shook his head, smiling at Kyle's childish innocence. "Et doesn't matter. Come on, let's dance." Kyle's eyes furrowed as he was dragged down the bleachers and onto the dance floor. The song changed to something slow, and Stan was seen with Wendy a few people over, swinging back and forth with the rhythm.

Kyle blushed as Christophe's hands went around his waist, pulling their bodies against each other, forehead rested against his own. He silently cursed himself for being Jewish and having no rhythm, but the brunette made it seem so easy. He smiled at how uncharacteristic it was.

"Why are you grinning, _cher_?"

"It strikes me as odd you can slow dance."

It was Christophe's turn to smile. "I'm French, et's just in my genes. I'll 'ave to take you to France so you can get a feel of what I'm talking about."

"I'd love that," he replied softly before something dawned on him. "Hey 'tophe, you never told me why you're with me."

His answer came in the form of Christophe capturing his lips in a kiss so tender and warming, he thought he was in some teeny-bopper movie. A few underclassmen glanced at them, but overall there was nothing said to them about it. Kyle knew why such a simple act could give him the jitters, and silently rejoiced at the reason as Christophe drew away, giving him a look that could melt, and he wished that moment would last forever.

_It was love_.

* * *

French-English glossary

_Quelques personnes sont justes soutenues avec la tragédie dans leur sang_—Some people are born with tragedy in their blood.

_Cher_—Dear

_Cherí_—Feminine form of "_cher_"; can also mean "sweetheart", which is how it's used in this context

_Petit connard_—Little fool

_Une, deux, trois_—One, two, three

_Non, oui_—No, yes

Un copains—iterally means "friends" (like _mes amis_), but used in slang form as "boyfriend"; don't use this in France to say "friends", though, go with "_amis_"

_Mon cher, ne parlent pas de cette mode, et ne me donnez pas qui regard triste. Ne soyez pas découragé, elle était une pétasse. Elle n'a pas su vous merveilleux êtes—_My dear, don't talk like that, and don't give me such a sad look. Don't be discouraged, she was a bitch. She didn't know how wonderful you are.

_J'taime_—I love you

_Clos de Vougeot—_Type of wine made in the Burgundy wine industries in Eastern France.

_Hâte, hâte_—Hurry hurry!

_La hâte, disparaissé_—Hurry, go!

_Je promets_—I promise

_Nous parleons ici_—We'll speak here

_Ce qui? Vouz avez pensé j'accepterais ceci_—Do what? Did you think I'd accept this?

_Non, je pas. Mais Kyle a pensé que vous, et j'ai voulu rendre il heureux_—No, I didn't. But Kyle thought you would, and I wanted to make him happy.

_Vous êtes juste comme votre père, un bon pour rien pédé_—You're just like your father, a good for nothing fag!

_Je ne suis pas comme Papa! Je ne vous ai pas laissé quand j'ai eu la chance_—I'm not like father! I didn't leave you when I had the chance.

_Il n'importe pas, vous datez toujours un garçon_—It doesn't matter, you're still dating a boy

_Il a pris le risque, et est venu à vous. Si ce n'est pas louable, je ne said pasce qui est_—He took the risk, and came to you. If that isn't commendable, I don't know what is

_l'aimez-vous_—Do you love him?

_Il est peu un tôt à dire_—It's a little early to say

_Ne me fais pas avaler ça! L'aimez-vous?_—Don't give me this shit! Do you love him?

_Oui, Mamen_—Yes, Mother

_As-tu perdu l'espirit? Ah, je n'y crois pas_—Have you lost your mind? Ah, I don't believe this!

_Mamen, arrêt. Vous n'en aidez pas. Il n'est parle pas français. Pouvez-vous, sil vous plait, penser à ce que je veux_—Mother, stop. You're not helping any. He doesn't speak French. Can you please think of what I want?


	3. Chapter Two

**Warnings: **Course language,slash, ban puns, OCness

**A/N:** For those wondering how you get the couple Chris/Kyle, here's the most logical answer. The scene where Christophe dies is a parallel to _Les Miserables_, specifically "A Little Fall of Rain" (the song), Eponine's death in the play or book, which happens to be a confession of love. Subconsciously the people that have seen/read the play just make it so, not because of the "hold me" line, but the whole entire scene. Then there are just the rabid fangirls that can put anyone together if determined enough.

Besides that, the "OCness" mentioned in the warning is Christophe's family, which we get into quite a bit. Of course I'm not taking credit for their existence, I just slapped them in there because I need them.

This chapter isn't based on the "I Go Back" lyrics, instead it's an interlude with a compilation, the most recognizable being the X-mas night scene, which goes to "Georgia Rain" by Trisha Yearwood.

Thanks to my reviewers as always, each time I see a review that says "update now!" it gets me going. Maybe not a lot, but a little xD. I'll try to update quicker next time. And just 'cause, **rdavymac**, Noémie is a raging body of estrogen, she certainly hasn't hit Menopause yet. Or maybe it's the genes.

Okay, this **_is not_ **the end oo; It won't end until I say "The End", just so you know (there's at least two chapters left not counting this one, three if I interlude again). Ahem…enjoy? nn;

Halloween fell on a Thursday that year and they all planned to go out and trick-or-treating for Time's sake. Everyone except Christophe, that is. The Tuesday before the 'holiday' during the dodge ball war in Physical Education he'd passed out, scaring Kyle senseless. When he'd come-to the French boy was in the clinic with a frightened looking Jew next to him, whom he'd pushed passed without explanation and locked himself in the bathroom to be sick. After the nausea had passed he'd been sent home with a 103 degree Fahrenheit temperature and pounding headache, with the wise words, "Get some rest, dear."

Wednesday he wasn't in school, giving Kenny some twisted reason to feel Kyle up. Through the day the blonde was either groping, pinching, touching, or tackling him in glee, making the Jew very glad Stan had agreed to take him home. Although sympathetic with Kenny, Kyle hadn't hesitated to punch him in the nose when the blonde's hands had trailed around his waist to rest quite uncomfortably on his crotch.

Thursday Christophe had turned up, but wasn't allowed to drive. Noémie had driven him to school in her silver Honda Civic, completely ruining any sort of reputation he had by the endearing words she called to him as he hurriedly sprinted away from her. Of course throughout the day his mind wandered blank, resulting in a need to concentrate to understand what he was being taught. However in English he finally got a chance to doze off, as Ms. Arzillo took Halloween to read from a book of Poe, dropping all other lesson plans. Kyle found himself whipping out his cell phone and taking a picture of the sickly brunette, who proceeded to nibble on his thumb and drool across the fake wooden desk. When the bell had rung and he'd been prodded awake, his face was slathered in slobber, and the wrist of his sweater sopped with germs. After school he felt the need to leave as soon as possible, forgetting pleasantries. His mother took the opportunity to wave viciously at Kyle a he left with Stan to get ready for the big night.

Trick-or-treating in a group, they'd decided to go as one. It had taken weeks of research to find the perfect group to cosplay, and several more to get the costuming right. They'd finally decided to go in _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ gear, Damien as Dr. Frank-N-Furter, Stan as Brad, Wendy as Janet, Pip as Riff Raff, Kyle as Magenta, Butters as Columbia, Timmy as Dr. Everett Von Scott, Kenny as Rocky, and Cartman as Eddie. Kyle had hissed as he got a glimpse of what he looked like in the hall mirror of Stan's house; it wasn't the make-up, or even the French-maid outfit that got him. It was the fact his best friend had gone through the painstaking cycle of picking out his ringlets, to create the ungodly Jew-fro he'd spent years flattening.

He had no reason to complain as he stepped into a living room full of decked out coslayers, gaze settling on Damien. The anti-Christ didn't seem too please to be sitting on the edge of the couch in a corset, shiny panties, silver-heeled pumps and fishnets, sporting a fro of his own. As Kyle walked into the room Damien glanced to him, black eyes alight with flames as he choked out the words:

"Now that all of you mortals are here, let us go in the hunt of candy."

Their plan was simple; they'd trick-or-treat at the wealthier twin neighborhoods of Wintrea and Trinity before circling back to their own. After all, what kid wouldn't go to the houses that gave out full sized candy bars, and sodas?

During their candy raids of youngsters they came across and didn't like, "haunted house" viewings, and tricks played on classmates they passed, the group broke into song and dance several times. The one that caught attention more than the others was Damien's rendition of "Sweet Transvestite", where he got out in the street and started to strut while singing. Unimpressed Cartman had thrown a lollipop at his ankles, causing the anti-Christ to stumble, nose meeting the pavement painfully. In a fit of rage Eric had been punished by being chased by Hell's most furious Gulons, being called off only when he had shouted a hurried apology and handed over a quarter of his candy.

They also passed Ike and his friend, Spencer, several times throughout the evening. Ike was done up in a Freddy Koger get-up, while his friend walked around as a giant condom. If the Canadian seemed at all embarrassed by the glow-in-the-dark Trojan label walking beside him, he didn't show it.

As they approached a beige house, Kenny stopped, Kyle at his side. "Dude, we can't go there."

Cartman huffed, turning to glare at they both, hands on his hips. "And why the Hell not? I heard they're giving out Tooty Gooey bars, Chocolate Cherry Chunks, _and_ Chewy Yum Yums."

The paled blonde sighed irritably. "That's Christophe's house."

"So? Jew-boy gets to see his boyfriend then, and we get candy. I don't see the problem here."

"Cartman damnit—" A hand on his elbow kept Kenny from farther arguing. Kyle pushed passed the others to take up post in the front as he rang the doorbell, the others shouting behind him. Noémie's face appeared in the doorway, smiling.

"Oh, 'ow adorable! 'ere, let me get—Kyle, is zat you?"

"Yes, Mrs. DeLorne," he said sheepishly at the questioning look, feeling his cheeks flush; he had on more makeup than she did, and felt quite stupid at that fact.

"Are you 'ere as part of ze trick-or-treating group, or to visit Christophe?"

"Both, actually, but I don't need any more candy."

"'e's up in 'is room, just knock before you go in incase 'e is asleep," she said, stepping out of the way so he could enter and began to pass out the candy. Stan's voice stopped him before he got too far, smug.

"Hey, want us to wait outside for you?"

Kyle turned to eye his best friend, whom watched him slyly over the top of a set of silver-framed glasses. Dressed in underclothes he didn't seem "dorky" like Brad, rather like an underwear model or stud in a _Playgirl_. "Nah, you guys go on without me, I'll call you for a place to meet at." Receiving a nod and wink he trotted up the stairs, careful in his heels and tapped on Christophe's door three times.

"Et's unlocked," came the congested voice of the French boy, his accent somehow thicker than normal. A brow raised in utter amusement Kyle opened the door and heeled it closed. He looked paler than he had earlier that day as he lay on his stomach, nestled in blankets with a book between is hands, but Kyle blamed it on the dim lighting. He finished the page and set the piece of literature down before looking up at Kyle, and when he did, his mouth fell open. The redhead muffled a laugh behind his hand at catching Christophe off guard.

"You can close your mouth now," he said, giggling, and crossed the room in a few hip-swinging movements to sit on the edge of the bed. The flu-ridden one turned over and sat up, bewilderment still written on his face.

"'as anyone told you, you make a very 'ot girl?" Kyle growled and went to hit Christophe, only to have his wrist caught and pulled close, inches away. His scarlet coloured lips scowled.

"I swear if you kiss me, I'm kicking you where it counts. I might have had my flu shot, but I don't want to take the chance."

Christophe rolled his eyes and moved an inch closer. "Oh no, I'm breathing on you! You might get the flu, or 'erpes, or even ze AIDs! 'ow 'orrible, truly terrible." Before the distance could be closed, he found a square packet against his lips, Kyle holding it quite firmly placed. Taking it from his mouth Christophe looked it over in amusement; a cherry flavoured condom. "Don't tell me during ze three days I've been gone you 'ave become a sex-crazed maniac."

"Oh yes, Christophe, take me now, have your way with me!" Kyle snorted, rolling his eyes as the condom was thrown at him, becoming implanted in his hair. As he worked to get it unstuck he said, "Nah, one of Ike's horny little friends was walking around as a giant sexual-awareness condom and passed them out to everyone that seemed to be getting any. He gave a cherry one to me, knowing how much I love cherries."

"Oh? I didn't know zat, I'll 'ave to make a mental note."

Kyle balked, green eyes narrowing. "You're kidding? You've never tasted the cherry lip-balm?"

"Well, yes, I 'ave but lip-balm isn't ze only zing to take into consideration you know," Christophe said defensively, before starting into a coughing fit. Looking disgruntled he asked, "You don't 'appen to 'ave any cigarettes, do you? Zat is my favourite favour."

Kyle whacked him in the leg, cringing. "Gross, dude, you know how much I hate those things."

"Zat's why you asked for one at ze dance, yes?"

He sighed, watching the blankets. "I really wish you'd quit smoking, it's such a disgusting habit."

"Yes, well, it takes the edge off and you already know about my line of work," they said in unison, startling Christophe. Was he really that predictable? Kyle just stared at him with determination.

"There's other ways to take the edge off of things, video games, cold showers, baths, going out into the middle of no where, you don't have to slowly kill yourself. Smoking isn't any better than those wrist slashing whiny emo kids that think they have problems—oh no, you have to go to school and do homework, that's a reason to kill yourself."

Christophe snorted, the action making him regret it as mucus caught in his throat. He fell into another coughing fit that was relieved only when he crossed to the window and spit the sickness out. Kyle fake-gagged behind his back.

"You know, if you weren't dressed up as one of ze leaders from Transalvania, I might take you a bit more seriously." A growl issued behind him, making the French boy smile to himself as he watched children trick-or-treating, and saw the figure of a skipping condom. "You really want me to quit?"

"Yes, Christophe, you know I'd prefer not to live several decades older than you because you're too stubborn to quit and continue giving your lungs Hell."

Turning he faced his sparring partner, precariously placed on his knees, sitting on the four inch heels, hands resting idly on his thighs, looking more like a whore waiting for her payment than a defensive Jew putting up an argument. Of course he wasn't going to mention this to Kyle, even as he licked his scarlet coloured lips in habit of thoughtfulness.

"I'll _try_ but I'm not guaranteeing any positive results, since I am humbly addicted to ze zings."

Kyle gave a nod and grinned, doing a little finger dance of victory. As Christophe eyed him in amusement the redhead blushed in embarrassment and pointed sheepishly to the computer. "May I?"

"'ave at et," he replied, returning to the bed and getting cozy as Kyle skipped to the computer. As he dropped down AIM and brought up _Doom II_ Christophe caught sight of white lace around his boyfriend's thigh and arched a brow, realizing what it was.

"Why are you wearing a garter?"

Kyle didn't even look down from his game as he killed off Imps and Demons. "Wendy said it was a nice touch, and she's a girl so I decided, hey, why not listen to her? Why?"

"Zey are part of a wedding tradition, _cher_, where zey are zrown to ze men, like a bouquet to ze women."

"Is that so?" Kyle said absently, switching guns from a shotgun to the rocket launcher. He stuck his tongue out in thought, circling a corner with caution before hitting the "ctrl" key rapidly.

Watching the redhead take out a group of Cacodemons, Christophe chuckled. "You know when I went to your 'ouse zat one day wiz Kenneth, we 'ad glorious sex on your bed."

"Really? That's nice."

"You're not listening to me."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, that'd be great." The brunette muffled a laugh as Kyle maneuvered the character across a narrow wall, surrounded by poison. "Come on, you can do it," he said to himself and gave a frustrated cry as an Imp threw a fireball at him, knocking the character into the poison. "Damnit! Damnit, damnit, and damnit again for good measure!"

"You take zat game too seriously." Kyle turned, sticking his tongue out in response. "Seriously, you're going to be ze next Columbine."

"Nah, I don't know anything about guns," Kyle lied with a smile. Christophe just shook his head and sat up.

"Close your eyes and 'old out your 'ands."

"What?"

"Trust me."

He nodded and closed his eyes, nervously holding out his hands. He had no idea what the devious brunette had in plan, so was startled when weight fell into his hands. Instinctually they closed around the object; a gun. Eyes still closed one hand wrapped around the grip, the other tracing over the finer details of the barrel and firemode switch.

"Give me details, Broflovski."

"Glock 19, semi compact mode, select fire model, nine millimeters." He looked up at Christophe, finding both a baffled and proud expression. Reaching out he handed it back. "Didn't think you much of a Glock fan, the grips are too wide and they have one helluva recoil. I always pictured a Taurus, like the PT 100, or Beretta Cougar, F model."

Christophe let out an impressed whistle as he returned the gun to the closet. "Kenneth wasn't kidding when 'e said you knew a zing or two about guns."

Kyle blushed, watching the floor intently. "Yeah, it's a secret hobby of mine. The thrill of looking down a barrel, not knowing whose going to get the first shot off just does me in. And I guess you were kind of the inspiration, back in the war and stuff."

"I can die 'appily now, knowing I've turned someone into a gun nut," the French boy said, swooning. Kyle rolled his eyes but smiled and turned back to the computer as the AIM message tone played across the speakers.

"Prick of a Thorne says you need to call him."

Christophe grunted. "Tell Gregory to fuck 'imself." Kyle relayed the message to the blonde Brit, laughing at the name it was typed under.

"Disastrous DeLorne? What kind of screen name is that?"

"A 'ighly stupid one, yes? I tried to tell Gregory zat when 'e made et, but _non_, don't listen to ze person zat 'as to use et. But et's not like yours is any better, 'broflovstar'."

Kyle rolled his eyes, hiding the blush creeping up his cheeks. It had been his childhood screen name, one everyone had if they needed to contact him; changing it would throw everyone off, including himself. Hearing the AIM tone again he read what Gregory had to say.

"_Oh, but I'd prefer to engage in sexual activities with you! Our last rendezvous was splendid, wasn't it Christophe? Too bad you have that little Jew clinging to you; how do you manage? It must be disgustingly annoying having him around. And you don't even love him, God! You are a patient man._"

He read it once, and over again before the message took hold. Calmly he replied, "_You can shove that cocky, high-maintenance attitude in your ass for all I care, prick._" Standing he grabbed a Sharpie from the desk and sauntered to the door.

"Where are you going, _cher_?"

"The bathroom, I think I got lipstick on my teeth," he replied idly, lying through his teeth.

"Come 'ere, let me see."

Hand resting on the doorknob he paused, before smiling cruelly to himself, throat constricting. "No, I don't trust you."

Christophe looked up as the redhead walked out, mildly surprised. He'd trusted him moment before, what had caused the change? And his voice, it'd hitch a pitch as he said it. Stumbling to the computer he read the short conversation, growling. Fingers swift over the keys he wrote, "_I fucking hate your existence, Gregory, the faggot God is more merciful and useful than you are._"

"_Oh, don't tell me he fell for all of that! And here I thought I was doing good bringing trick-or-treating to you._"

His eyes narrowed at that; leave it to Gregory to know who he was talking to, and set up some devious joke. "_He walked out, you bastard._"

"_Then go after him, Christophe, unless you _really_ don't love him?_" He stared at the screen before jumping up and hurried to the door, yanking it open. However it didn't budge, succeeding in only making the French boy's anger rise. Bracing himself he tried again, though the stubborn door still refused to open.

"Damnit God, you scrotum licking cock sucker, why must you always take away ze nice zings in my life? Gyah!" He kicked the door, hard enough to pop lose the bottom edge from the skeleton. "Why did you create Gregory? Out of ze millions of selections, you 'ad to make 'im ze juvenile covert operator! Couldn't you 'ave at least given 'im common sense?" Sighing he limped to the window, watching the unmistakable figure of Kyle walk toward the group of _Rocky Horror_ cosplayers. Returning to the computer he slumped down.

"_I hate you_."

"_What did he say?_"

"_Let's see, nothing? He kind of jammed the door or something so it won't open_."

"_How pleasant_."

"_Shut up_."

"_Seriously, that's not a very good relationship if he trust what I said a lot more than you_."

"_It's not a trust issue. You just happened to hit every weak spot, dance upon the thinnest ice, and say the perfect things in such a simple sentence. Maybe next time you can be considerate and keep your mouth shut, yes?"_

"_And when was I not 'considerate'?_"

"_Maybe when I wasn't appreciative of your actions?_"

"_Oh, I'm sorry but _I'm_ not the one that is emotionally insecure. Suck up your pride, DeLorne, and any doubts you might have and just be spontaneous, show him that you love him. If you do, of course. So you're afraid to be outwardly expressive, so what? He can most likely help you with that, do what your Mother, Father, and cousin have been trying to do._"

He glared at the screen, cursing Gregory for knowing his weakness, his flaw. Shaking his head he clicked the block button, satisfied, and shut down the dreaded machinery. Turning toward the door to figure out what to do about it, he balked. Noémie stood leaning against the wall, a blank expression on her face, holding a Sharpie between two fingers like a cigarette.

"'ow long 'ave you been zere, Muzza?"

"Since you began to bang on ze keyboard, darling," she replied, tossing the marker at him. "It was jammed in ze doorframe."

"So zat is why it wouldn't open," he said, catching it and placing it back next to the mouse. Seeing that Noémie had no intention of leaving he cocked his head, sighing. "Is zere somezing else you want?"

She nodded, running a hand through her dark hair and sat on the edge of her son's bed. "Did you 'ave a fight wiz Kyle? 'e left seeming razer upset, alzough 'e 'id et well." Sunday after the dance they had a discussion on his relationship with Kyle, Noémie admitting she knew he was homosexual years before, but had denied it. The conversation had easily switched to his father, and instead of the usually yelling about the issue, it'd been thought ridden and deep.

"No, not a fight, Gregory played a razer cruel trick."

Another nod. "You've got to call 'im, love."

He looked at her like she was crazy. "Muzza, I don't want to actually get in a fight."

"Zen don't." Knowing he was going to argue Noémie held up a hand, silencing him. "You're going to school tomorrow, 'ow do you except to avoid 'im? Ze fact is you can't. I know you are sick and everyzing, but zis 'olding back isn't like you, love." A slender finger pointed at his chest, where otherwise the baldric would rest, in habit. "Do not let ze ramblings in your 'ead decide your fate, because et is _your_ choice, not 'eaven's. Speak wiz your heart, we all know you can, Christophe. Or at least zink about et." She left without another word.

He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, propped upward and sighed. "Why can't anyone just, I don't know, cater to me when I'm sick instead of pulling zis crap? _Mon Dieu_." Spinning in the chair he grabbed his phone and hit speed dial, waiting. On the third ring he exhaled angrily and began to flip the phone closed, an exhausted, and equally angry voice stopping him.

"What do you want?" Tense silence hung over the line, Christophe smiling as he imagined Kyle to have pulled the Samsung from his ear to stare at it queerly. "I'm hanging up."

He took a breath; what the Hell did he have to lose? "_Cherí_, I love you." However, Christophe wasn't that bold. Before Kyle could respond he closed the phone, tossing it across the room in a hurry.

How was that for spontaneous?

---

Noémie drove him to school that morning with the wise words, "Be safe". Instead of heading to the west wing commons like usual, he sauntered to his first period, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Several of the students there early that he passed gave him a sympathetic look, be it from already hearing the "news", or because he looked like absolute shit he couldn't fathom. As he turned down the hall of his class he stopped dead, finding Kyle outside of the door. It surprised him that the thing he noticed first wasn't the way those green eyes flicked to him in disdain, or the angry posture, but the absolute straightness of his red hair, the way the two black streaks brought out the slight colour of his cheeks.

'_Et must 'ave been very frizzy after washing et_,' he thought to himself as Kyle stalked over and shoved him rather roughly into a few lockers, and commenced to explain Gregory had been the one to call him up and explain the joke, and it wasn't right. The brunette hadn't paid the feisty red head much attention until he was jabbed in the forehead with the word, "Well?" To cover himself he had just leaned down and kissed Kyle briefly before cocking a brow in question and putting on the best amused expression he could. The Jew had just scowled before wiping at his mouth, ensuring that if he got sick there would be Hell to pay. And they went about their day like nothing had happened the previous night.

It took until Wednesday the following week for Christophe to recover completely. Instead of being sluggish and blunt he was rather peppy and engaged in conversations, usually lightning any situation. On Thursday Wendy broke up with Stan, reason being he was too possessive and she'd never get the chance to do what she wanted with him holding her down. He fell into depression for two days, worrying them all he'd go Goth again. The following Monday Wendy had walked up and slapped him for being such a dependant jerk, and immediately they were back together again. Christophe, whom had never been through one of their infamous breakups before was confused on all levels, until Cartman had explained the "hippy ways". Shaking his head Christophe had sworn to his name he wouldn't become some crack-pot hippy going on-and-off with Kyle.

And he kept that promise well.

---

Thanksgiving rolled around amazingly swift, with school to attend and relationships to keep sturdy. Since her son had started to date, Sheila became lenient on Kyle's curfew, and let him sleep away on school nights, _if_ and only if his homework had been completed in school. This gave him new vigor and worked extra hard on his schoolwork, his grades bumping up a few points and making Sheila extremely happy. The change in his grades also gave Sheila new incentive to accept Christophe.

It was the first morning of the four-day Thanksgiving break, and the said French boy was already up, in the kitchen wolfing down a splendid breakfast his mother had made. His cooking couldn't compare to Noémie's, and this simple meal proved it. As he forked the food into his mouth she entered the kitchen, his cell in her hand. At the sight of him eating she made a sound of disgust.

"Christophe! What 'ave I told you about in'aling food? You're going to choke, use your manners!"

He gulped half a glass of milk, holding up a finger as he swallowed, his other hand motioning the food to go faster. Finally when he could speak he asked, "Why do you 'ave my phone?"

"Oh, yes!" she said, yes widening as she rushed it over to him. "Kyle, 'e called."

Raising a brow he took the phone from his mother, hearing the distinctive laughter from the other end. He hadn't expected the redhead to call at all during break, since the Jew had things to do to get ready for Thanksgiving. As the laughter continued, and didn't seem to end he sighed. "Kyle, take a breath before you pass out."

The sound of inhaling came before a short fit of giggles. "Aw, did Chrissy-Wissy get in trouble for acting like a vacuum cleaner?"

"If you ever call me zat again, I won't 'esitate to smack you over ze 'ead with my shovel," he growled, cringing at the sickeningly cute nickname. It took all his patience to deal with "'tophe", "Chrissy-Wissy" was out of the question.

"You know you love it, Chriss—"

He flipped the phone close, hanging up on Kyle and crossed his arms in defiance. A second later the phone rang and he answered with, "I told you not to fucking call me zat."

"Okay, okay, I get it, you aren't lovable and cute, you're a tough, brute he-man," Kyle said in a tone that made it seem like he'd be rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I've got to go to Denver airport to pick up someone, wanna come with?"

Standing he walked to the sink and washed his dishes. "I don't zink I should now, you've insulted my pride."

"It's what you get for being disgusting when you eat," he answered with a laugh. "Come on, it'll get you out of the house, I know you don't see much sunlight outside of school."

"I like my 'ouse perfectly fine, thanks."

"If you stay 'ere wiz me, darling, you're going to be cleaning and doing chores," Noémie said from across the kitchen as she arranged a vase of flowers. Christophe groaned, caught in a deadlock.

"I guess you're coming, then, huh?" Kyle questioned.

"When will you be 'ere?"

"About ten minutes, see ya then."

Wiping off his hands he crossed to the table and dropped his phone there. Noémie looked up to him and frowned, eyeing his untamed hair like she always did.

"Go do somezing about zat 'air of yours, and brush your teeth."

He grunted in acknowledgement and trotted up stairs to do as he was told, pausing at the top to inspect his image in the full-length mirror set against the end of the hall. His hair was disorderly, he had to admit, but it looked like it always did; why did his mother make such commotion over it? Running a hand through it he flattened the unruly locks the best he could before pulling at his shirt; he'd have to change into something thicker. Sighing he brushed his teeth until the foam was a satisfying shade of pink and changed into a deep blue sweater, one of the only ones his cousin, Arianne, had sent him that wasn't bright and cheery. It was about that time his mother shouted up to him that Kyle has arrived. Without responding he pulled on his boots, tying them roughly and vaulted down the stairs.

"Heya, ready to go?" Kyle asked, raising a hand in greeting from the depths of a bright green hoodie. He nodded, grabbing the redhead by the wrist and escorted him out. Noémie stood on the edge of the porch as they walked out to the red Nissan.

"'ave fun, boys. Kiss kiss!"

Christophe waved off her goodbye and found himself uncomfortably in the passenger seat with Kyle trying to take out his mailbox. After careful backing up _straight_, and a sheepish wave to the startled Mrs. DeLorne, they were off to Denver. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket as Kyle fidgeted with the sound system.

"You said you were going to quit," Kyle said with a frown, eyeing the pack. Christophe mentally cursed himself for forgetting.

"I did?"

"You know, I'd appreciate you just say 'I want my lungs to be an unhealthy shade of black, Kyle, so fuck off' instead of lying about it."

The brunette sighed, leaning his elbow against the window. "I would prefer my lungs not be an un'ealthy shade of black, but et is 'ard fighting an addiction, _cher_."

"Let me see those." Annoyed Kyle snatched the pack from his lap, rolled down the window and threw it out. Christophe gawked as it was crushed by the vehicle behind them.

"Do you know 'ow much those cost?"

"More then trust, apparently," Kyle snapped. Had he not been in a car, Christophe might have smacked the redhead silly. Instead he settled by taking Kyle's balled up fist between his hands.

"Why are you so huffy, love? You 'ave been since 'alloween."

"I don't know, could it be that you totally violated the faith between us? Yeah, that's it."

"But I said—'

"I know what you said, but I don't believe it!" Kyle snarled, surprising Christophe. "I'm always the one trying to smooth things over and saying 'I love you' on a regular basis, because _I do_! But you always just seem like an untouchable object, or a place that cannot be broken into. It's frustrating, Christophe."

"Et's frustrating?" he replied in disbelief. "You're frustrating! 'ow could you not believe et—" seeing Kyle's hurt eyes he added "—zat I love you? All ze zings I've show you, and only you? What about after ze dance? What was zat?"

A faint smile played over Kyle's lips as he remembered what happened after Homecoming. Instead of going to one of the many after-parties, the whole senior class decided to play manhunt at two in the morning, in their finest. Craig was It first, and they had played for the first few rounds until they got lost in the forest, and spent all night just talking as they wandered around, trying to find anything that looked familiar. As dawn broke they found themselves on the cliff they'd shared their first kiss, cuddled against each other, watching in awe as the sky came alive. Both of their mothers had been agitated they stayed out all night, but otherwise hadn't fussed.

"It was…wonderful," he finally admitted, smiling. "I feel like such a chick, dude, with these mood swings." Keeping his mouth shut from getting into any trouble, Christophe had just sat back, smiling himself.

"So who are we picking up at ze airport?"

"Oh, my cousin. Try to be nice to him, alright? As annoying as he is—and although I've tried shipping him off to Argentina—be nice." Taking his nod for an answer Kyle grabbed his CD case as they came to a red light. "Wanna listen to anything in particular?"

"Your car, your choice."

They rode the remainder of the way in silence, _Yellowcard_ playing. Several times Kyle was caught humming along, and once singing to "Only One". Christophe found himself biting his knuckles to keep from bursting into laughter at the driver's heartfelt rendition of the song.

They parked on the forth level of the east wing in the spot Sheila had reserved. Making a few mental notes of the cars they were around they headed off to the east wing gate to wait. Christophe watched the flow of people, mentally calling their weaknesses and possible talents, so absorbed in it that he didn't notice a high pitched voice say, "I'm baaack! How have you been, cousin Kiley?"

He looked down at the boy, an inch or so taller than Kyle, with darker curls and thick-lensed glasses. Over a polo shirt he was wrapped in a coat edged with faux fur, and wore a scarf secured around his neck. Snow boots poked out from under ants that were a little two short, and in one hand he carried a suitcase with stickers from around the world. He glanced at Kyle, seeing the forced smile.

"I'm fine, how was your trip?" the redhead asked, reaching to take the suitcase from his cousin.

"Oh it was terrible! The airports are just so congested and the conditions are so unsanitary! So how has your family been? What about Ike, he should be about nine now, right? How is he?" cousin Kyle asked as they slowly made their way back to the parking area.

"They are fine, perfectly well. Ike's just great, annoying, snoopy, smarter than any nine-year-old I've ever known, but good," Kyle replied, adding false cheer to his voice. Cousin Kyle looked up to Christophe, finally noticing him.

"Kiley, who's your friend?"

"Oh, right! Kyle, meet Christophe, 'tophe, likewise," Kyle said absently, searching for the car. Why couldn't they have parked next to a Hummer?

"Christophe, eh? It's very nice to meet you, if your name French? It sounds French. You know it deprives from late Greek, meaning 'bearing Christ'."

"I'm sure he knows that, Kyle."

Cousin Kyle huffed as the redhead threw his suitcase into the back of the Nissan after finally finding it. "Why are you so snappy, Kiley? You've never been like this before with your other heathen friends. I'm just trying to start conversation, really now!"

As Kyle dangled the keys in his hands Christophe took them with a serious look, gaining a glare. "You're aggravated, and I don't particularly want to die today, _cher_," he explained as he slipped behind the wheel. Cousin Kyle got into the passenger seat and buckled up as he began the long process of leaving the airport parking lot.

"So how did you two meet?" Cousin Kyle asked finally, looking over his shoulder at Kyle in the backseat.

"The war Mom started," he replied absently, playing with the drawstring of his hood.

"Of course I died, and zen came back to life, and met 'im again at school a little over a month ago," Christophe added, turning onto Peña Boulevard.

"And we became a great couple," he replied, watching the buildings pass before realizing his mistake and said hurriedly, "of friends! Isn't that right 'to—Christophe?"

"Mmyeah."

The darker haired Jew looked between them with a brow cocked, but ignored the faltering tension. "So Kiley, I noticed you streaked your hair. How'd your parents react to that?"

Kyle groaned at the reminder. Once Sheila had gotten him alone the first time she'd seen it, she exploded, wanting to know what would make him defile something as 'holy and pure as the traditional Jewish red hair'. He'd tried to defend himself, but ended up in an argument that ended with the Broflovski woman trying to wash the dye out of his hair. Unfortunately, being permanent it stayed strong, and she threatened to chop it all off. She'd only given in when Gerald had passed his damp son and mentioned how 'cool and hip' it was.

"Not well."

"Oh, yes, I can imagine. I also noticed you don't wear that retched ski cap anymore, finally outgrow it?"

Grunting, he shook his head, and answered with a sickeningly sweet voice. "No, but _someone _decided it'd be fun to see what would happen if it met a chainsaw."

"How terrible!" The cousin looked glanced at Christophe as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I guess that was you?"

"Guilty, and I'll 'ave you know, _cher_, it was a blast."

He gaped, glaring at the rear view mirror where Christophe was watching him with a smug smile. Growling Kyle whacked him in the shoulder and was tsked.

"What 'ave I told you about 'itting ze driver?"

"Yeah, Kiley, its not very safe!" cousin Kyle admitted with an indignant huff.

From there they engaged in idle chatter, speaking of what they'd all been through over the years. As they drove through North Park cousin Kyle cranked up the radio, and the two cousins began to sing along to what was playing. Christophe found himself constantly biting at his cheek to keep from laughing—the Jewish really had no grasp of tone, or at least the dark-haired cousin didn't. Half a CD later Christophe pulled up in front of his house and switched over to park before getting out.

"This, this isn't Kiley's house, where are we? I distinctly remember jade green paint, not peach," cousin Kyle said, squinting at the house. Kyle got out as well and leaned against the open door of the driver's side as he answered his cousin.

"This is Christophe's place, can't very well expect him to drive us home with my car, can you?"

"Well, I guess not. But hurry up, it's cold with the door open! I think I should have worn another jacket."

Kyle rolled his eyes as he turned from his cousin, receiving a smile from Christophe. "Thanks for coming along, and not killing the car while driving. Mom would be pissed if anything happened since you're not on insurance."

"I told you, I drive very well," the French boy replied in a scolding manner. Leaning down he kissed Kyle lightly, completely satisfied with the blush that crept over his face, and amused he could still strike that reaction. "'ave a good Thanksgiving, both of you. Et was a pleasure to meet you, Kyle."

Cousin Kyle looked up at that. "Oh, yes, it was a pleasure! I hope to see you again before I leave, Christophe. Have a good Thanksgiving yourself, if you celebrate that is."

Kyle gave his boyfriend a questioning look, receiving a smile in answer. "I was born in France, love, why would I celebrate zanksgiving? None of my family came over as ze pilgrims, zey stayed 'umbly in France."

As the redhead got into the car he shook his head and slapped himself. "I didn't think of that. Have a good break, and tell your Mom 'hi' for me, 'kay?"

He stepped away from the car and walked back to the front porch and gave a peace sign salute as Kyle switched to drive and pulled away.

The rest of the day was dedicated to listening to stories of cousin Kyle's life, and faking cheer and goodwill. Who really cared about the colonization of Monarch butterflies, and their mating habits, anyway? It was after a long discussion of the spices in dinner that Kyle got a break from his cousin, and fell onto his bed with a sigh of relief. However, it didn't last long as cousin Kyle walked in and sat on the edge of the bed, watching the distraught redhead. Exhaling in exasperation he sat up on his elbows to glare at the other.

"Yes?"

The darker coloured of the two fidgeted. "Well I saw you kiss that boy earlier and I was wondering if it's some French tradition I've never heard of, or friends with benefits?"

Kyle blinked, clearly amused by the question. He knew what friends with benefits were, as Kenny had offered early in middle school for some bizarre reason, but the Jew had declined without a thought, not knowing the extent of STDs his friend could have. "Neither, he's my, well, boyfriend."

"So you're gay?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he replied a bit sheepishly, fluffing his hair. "If it bothers you, I'm sure Ike would let you room with him, or I could."

"No, no, no, it doesn't bother me at all. I mean homosexuality is becoming more of an accepted thing in society, and we're raised on tolerance. Who am I to belittle you if someone of the same sex makes you happy? You're family, Kiley, I'm not going to walk out on you now because of that," his cousin snapped, hurriedly, as if not defending his position in the matter would see the world into the Apocalypse.

"That's…great, Kyle."

"Please, don't allow my presence affect you're relationship! Go out with him, make fun, do couple-y things!"

Blushing Kyle balked at his cousin's newfound friendliness. "I appreciate your concern, but I can live without him for a few days." '_Although I didn't do so hot when he had the flu, but that was all worry, right? Right._'

"Just letting you know," cousin Kyle said gallantly before yawning. The redhead glanced to his bedside clock; ten thirty seven. Shuffling to the closet he rummaged through it, knocking a few old stuffed toys and board games out of his way as he grabbed an extra comforter and pillow. Kicking the closet door shut he grabbed his phone and plopped down on the floor, setting the tone down in case anyone called. The one on the bed watched him. "You know you can sleep up here."

Kyle looked up at him, smiling in disbelief. "Sorry cous', nothing against you or anything, but there's only a select few dudes I'd sleep with; Christophe for obvious reasons, Ike, and Stan because he's my best friend and he refuses to let me sleep on the couch or floor. Oh, I guess Jay Gordon, but he's the hottest person ever."

As cousin Kyle took off his glasses and set them beside the clock, he snuggled into the blankets as if he'd freeze to death. "Hotter than Christophe?"

Before answering Kyle crawled under his blanket, turning onto his side to look up at his cousin. "Oh yeah, I won't even deny it, Jay is just drop dead gorgeous. But on a realistic level, a level I can compare with, 'tophe takes the cake, with Stan and Kenny in hot pursue."

They talked for an hour about the hotness of Jay Gordon and Christophe, finally coming to the conclusion Kyle was indeed gay. It was obvious to cousin Kyle the way that Christophe was spoken there was undeniable love. The way Kyle coloured with a tedious smile while remembering some fine detail of the French boy, the way he huffed in something akin to rage at the talk about his smoking habit, and the way he seemed to cherish the thought of him in a longing manner. By the time Kyle had fallen into a blissful sleep he was muttering sweet nothings into his pillow, wrapped around a body that wasn't there.

Cousin Kyle smiled as he felt the lull of sleep; he'd have to tell the other of this.

---

Thanksgiving morning they all got up early to the smell of turkey cooking in the oven, and commenced to watch the Macy's Day Parade. Kyle mused to himself that it got the incredible ratings it did; if you've seen one Parade, you've seen them all. Of course he realized it was tradition more than actually enjoying watching a fifty-foot Garfield weave through the buildings of downtown Manhattan. Before the Parade ended dinner was done and they were saying prayers, before digging into the huge mounds of food. By noon the boys had collapsed onto the couch and floor in front of the television, moaning about their insides imploding. Thirty minutes after some of the food was slowly beginning the digestion process—and much joking had been made by Gerald—they were snarling curses and playing _Super Mario Kart_.

Ike pounded on the "X" key, sending a strike of lightning down on cousin Kyle's car with a howl of glee.

"Oh jeez! The control vibrated in my hands! Oh, oh God!"

Tongue between his teeth in concentration, Kyle zipped passed his brother's car, throwing a mushroom at the Canadian as he did, but missed. Cutting a corner too tight the car spun and fell into oblivion, giving Ike the winning edge. With a yelp he jumped up, doing his usual victory dance, in which much air humping ensued. Whacking his brother in the leg, Kyle lay back onto the carpet with a sigh.

"You two suck at video games," Ike whined, plopping down as their cousin started a solo practice round.

"Maybe if you didn't spend all your time playing the game someone could beat you, you little snot," Kyle replied, "omphing" as Ike pounced on him. The black haired boy stared at him quizzically.

"What about your friends? They're good."

"They have their own Thanksgiving to attend, stupid."

"What, what about Christophe? He said he wasn't celebrating," cousin Kyle piped up, hitting a wall and sending the controller into vibrate mode.

"He's probably doing something with his mother."

As Sheila passed she stopped, eyes lighting in delight. "Oh good then, we can invite them both over! I haven't talked to Noémie in a while. Where's your phone, Booby? I'll call using that."

"On the counter," he said tartly. Did no one want to ask if he wanted them over? Christophe was _his_ boyfriend after all. Ike, seeing the thought cross his face, sat back on his stomach in puzzlement.

"You wanna see Chris, right?"

Smiling at his concern Kyle sat up and shoved Ike off, before pinning him to the ground with a wicked look. "Of course I do, but not as much as I wanna kill you." Ike shouted and squealed as Kyle began to tickle him viciously. Sheila smiled at her sons before going upstairs to make the call, cousin Kyle not even noticing the violent lurching and giggling next to him. It lasted nearly ten minutes, tears streaming down the little one's face.

"Kiley, stop, stop it!" Ike yelled between fits of laughter. "Have mercy on me! Kiley, _please_!" Kyle hesitated at the plea, hands resting on his brother's stomach, the one place that got Ike every time, minus between the shoulder blades. With the falter Ike took advantage of the situation, pushing Kyle back onto the floor and straddled his hips, grinning evilly, reminding Kyle of the Cheshire Cat, or a demon. Brushing the red curls away from his neck, Ike ran his fingernails across the skin, feather light. Kyle cringed, gooseflesh marching across his body, shuddering at the contact. If there was one place on his body that made him completely unresponsive, it was his neck.

"Ike, stop it," Kyle hissed between clenched teeth as his brother traced around the Star of David he wore on a thin black cord, nails trailing over his collar.

"Or what?" the Canadian asked with a pleased smile. There were very few times he could get his brother into a submissive state, and enjoyed every minute of it, before being threatened within every inch of his life. It was a secret punishment for all of the "kick the baby" games, and Ike reveled.

"I zink I'll 'ave to drag you off of 'im, because 'e's mine."

Ike looked over his shoulder to see the French boy with his hands on his hips, a smug expression crawling over his face. Noémie stood to his left, waving, and cousin Kyle returned to his spot on the floor to play solo. With a sigh he got off of his brother, and was decked in the head as Kyle sat up, rubbing his hands across his neck in an attempt to rid the feeling of Ike's nails. Sheila appeared at the moment.

"Well hello there Noémie, Christophe! Would you two like anything to eat, or drink?" she asked, dragging Mrs. DeLorne off into the kitchen without an answer. Christophe circled behind the cousin as to not be rude and interrupt the game before settling beside the shuddering redhead. Ike grabbed several controllers and passed them around, waiting for cousin Kyle to finish his lap.

"Any idea why your muzza called for us to come over?" Christophe asked, fiddling with the cord, entwining it around his fingers in an intricate pattern. What was it about people winding things in their hands that seemed so mysterious, and sexy? A voice in Kyle's mind answered: '_Hand control, duh, it shows they're skilled and know it. All about confidence, baby._'

"No clue, she gets weird around Thanksgiving every year though, so no biggie," Kyle replied, cursing himself for flushing. What was it about Christophe that could make his face burn with just a simple look?

"Who cares, let's play!" Ike moaned as they selected their cars and players, the track a rainbow space one, which usually involved a lot of falling off the road. It was about the time Christophe took the lead by running Ike off the track that Sheila called:

"Boys, would you come here? We've got something to talk to you about!"

"Playing games, Mom!" Ike called back, punching the brunette in the arm without losing any speed.

"We meant Christophe and Kyle," Noémie said, voice raised but not too loud. Hitting a stored power boost Christophe sped passed Ike and took first with a grin before dragging Kyle up and into the kitchen where their mothers waited, sitting at the kitchen table. They sat down as well, looking between the two middle-aged women.

"What's this about?" Kyle asked, a little uneasy. He knew by the people present it was something to do with them, and didn't like that prospect. Mrs. DeLorne offered a smile, folding her hands neatly on the tabletop.

"My sister called me earlier zis morning, asking if I wanted to visit zis winter break, 'owever I cannot go," she started, watching as understanding broke over her son's features. "So I zought zat maybe you two would like to go. She is completely accepting of ze idea, and actually really likes et, so I talked to your muzza, Kyle."

"And of course since it's such a nice opportunity to learn about a new culture, I couldn't say no!" Sheila assured. "You two wouldn't have us around, either."

"But of course zere will be supervision, Isabelle will be ze 'ost, but et really is your choice of if you will stay zere ze w'ole time," Noémie added, watching Christophe for a reaction. It came when he ran a hand through his hair, in utter shock.

"You are suggesting I visit Papa?"

"'e is as much part of your life as I am, if you want to I cannot 'old you back."

He turned to face the silent Kyle, taking the Jew's hands between his own. Startled Kyle looked to him with a faint smile. "Would you consider et? Going to France wiz me?"

Kyle couldn't ignore the desperation and flare of joy he saw in those chocolate eyes. Was there any way to resist? "But I don't know French, which could very well hinder me."

"But I shall be zere, _cher_, so everyzing will be fine. Will you come, zen?"

"Mom?"

Sheila smiled. "It's fine, Booby, if you want to go then please do. You'll miss Hanukkah, but you'll be enjoying yourself!"

"How could I say no then?" Kyle asked with a giggle as Christophe squeezed his hands in a death grip. Noémie, though, mentioned the one thing that could crack her son's cheerful demeanor: Arianne.

---

The month passed like a second, midterm week dragging. With midterms the schedule was different, the day being split into two exam sessions, and two study periods, with one lunch between. All classes except electives held exams, usually meaning everyone was bubbling in answers on a Scantron. By the last day before winter break, conveniently on a Wednesday, the whole school was in a riot, skipping out into the cold snow, and starting a huge snow ball fight. The only one leaving South Park to visit family in their group, other than Kyle and Christophe, was Cartman. For two weeks he bitched and moaned about how he'd be up Cincinnati with "tree hugging, hippy sonsabitches", until he realized the city was home of _Skyline Chili_. From then on out he gloated, until Damien had had enough and set him on fire, that is.

Early Thursday morning, before dawn had even broke, they were driven half-asleep to the airport and ushered off in their flight direction. Squinting and out of it Kyle managed to get the edge of his pants stuck in the escalator, causing a technical difficulty, and hassling by the security guards. When they'd finally got the sniffling boy unstuck they had to hurry to get on the plane without missing it.

On it, Kyle was pleasantly awake, clutching the armrest, knuckles white, chewing on his bottom lip absently as the flight attendants went over basic procedure. He'd refused to sit next to the window, threatening to get off and stay home instead of flying to France. Now Christophe leaned over his companion, uncurling Kyle's hands from the plastic, almost painfully.

"_Cher_, nothing will happen, calm down."

Turning accusingly wide eyes to him, Kyle glared, although it seemed more like a plea of safety more than anything. "You know, I appreciate you trying to be all nice and lovey and say that when the plane goes down we'll burn in a firey ball together, but that really, really doesn't help. I'd prefer not blowing up into millions of pieces for seagulls to eat."

"You've got to calm down, 'aving 'ysterics in air will not 'elp any," Christophe said softly, rubbing circles on the back of Kyle's hands. "What 'as you so frightened, anyway?"

"I just don't trust only having a thin sheet of metal between me and instant death. On a cliff, sure, that's fine, I'm still on solid ground. In an airplane? No, just no." The plane took off, gaining a squeal from Kyle as he shut his eyes tightly and clung to Christophe's right arm, with no intention of letting go. As the piece of machinery leveled out, a fligth attendant shuffled over, giving them a concerned look.

"Is everything alright, sirs?"

"'e's just a little…spooked," the brunette offered.

"Ah! Well, my suggestion is to listen to some music, tune everything out, sleep. If you don't realize you're not on ground, there isn't anything to be afraid of." With a small smile she wandered off to help other passengers.

"Per'aps you should listen to 'er, love," Christophe said, trying to move his fingers, but it was useless with a numb arm.

"Oh, big help," he muttered sarcastically, but grudgingly agreed and pulled on his headphones, using Christophe's shoulder as a pillow. He was tired from waking up early, as much as sleeping in air freaked him out. Christophe smiled to himself as Kyle started to mutter in his sleep about the evils of microwaves, wishing the flight would never end.

---

Of course his views changed on that after arriving at the Charles de Gaulle airport nearly twelve hours later. Kyle clung to his heels like a lost puppy, not understanding what the service people were asking of him, which Christophe translated easily. It was a lot more aggravating then he had thought it would be, of course that could be the jet lag talking. Forty-five minutes after getting off the plane they were in a rental, heading to a hotel to crash before driving off to Vougeot. As soon as he stepped through the door Christophe fell into bed, instantly asleep, leaving Kyle to find another blanket to throw over him.

The morning after he was awake before the redhead, using it to his advantage; taking Kyle from Paris nearly asleep would keep him from being a proper tourist. About an hour from their destination he woke up to the cursing of the driver, about how he preferred "damn American stop lights more zen crappy sonuvabeetch traffic circles". Half passed noon he pulled up to a rot iron gate, which opened electronically with a few muttered French words. It was another few minutes before they circled a fountain standing outside of what appeared to be a small castle, ivy growing on the bricks in decoration. Surrounding the "house" were fields and wine vineyards.

As he slowly climbed out of the car Kyle was greeted by the sight of a woman in a long skirt, puffy coat, almost black hair tied back into an elaborate bun trot carefully down the stone stairs, watching for ice and snow Christophe walked around the car and kissed her on the cheek before being embraced.

"_Bonjour Christophe, ça va?_"

Unlatching himself from the woman's grip he offered a smile. "_Je vais bien. Et vous?_

"_Trés, trés bien!_" Looking passed the brunette she motioned to him, clapping her hands together in a gleeful manner. "And you, you must be Kyle! _Mon souer_ 'as told me so much about you! Come, come, I wouldn't want you two to catch a cold so early in your visit!"

Still stunned that he would be staying in such a beautiful place, he let Christophe drag him away from the car without questioning it. After all, there was probably a valet or something that would take it somewhere safe, along with their bags.

Upon entering the house, Kyle was floored. It was absolutely spactacular, opening to a grand marble staircase leading up to the higher levels and more amazingly staircases. Everything looked decorated from the 1700's, almost untouchable (until he saw the actual "living quarters", soaked in technology). A statue of an angel sat perched precariously in a stained glass window, coloured rays decorating the floor in technicoloured rainbows.

A squeal from atop the stairs brought his attention for a girl about the age of Ike, dressed in a long black skirt trimmed with pale pink lace and white petticoats, a pink sweater embroidered with black, yellow, and white roses around the triangular wrist, and shined black dress shoes. Chocolate coloured curls fell around her face in the front, framing the creamy skin, giving an angelic beauty, while the rest cascaded down he back to her slim waist. As she ran down the stairs a silver locket flopped from around her neck, and Christophe gave a groan of displeasure.

"Cousin Christophe, you've come!" the accented voice yelled, the rolling purr making it particularly pretty. She skipped over, latching around his middle, no taller than four feet. Awkwardly he patted her head.

"Arianne, 'ow nice et is to see you _alive_ and well."

She shied away, hands on her hips, honey-coloured eyes narrowing. "Did you expect me dead, Christophe?"

"Et'd be alright wiz me," he replied coyly, giving the malicious girl a smile. Isabelle didn't seem to notice the arguing as she wandered off cheerfully humming to herself, as if it happened at every encounter (and did). Kyle stood on the sidelines, unsure.

"Well maybe I should just zrow myself out ze window so your vacation can be 'appy, yes?"

"I'd gladly 'elp you in zose matters."

She stalked back to him, looking up scornfully from under straight bangs. "Would you? Well, I'll just 'ave to 'elp ze population of ze world, mm?" With a wicked smile she kneed him in the groin, stepping away as he stumbled and went down, hard. Looking him over once she grabbed Kyle's arm, a skip to her step as she dragged him away from his cursing boyfriend. Catching him struggling to go back and help she merely smiled. "Leave 'im to ze maids, zere is punishment in being rude 'ere."

And that was how Kyle met the she-Devil of their existence.

---

Isabelle kindly roomed them in the same quarters, with a joyous smile and the words, "Zis way my precious little Arianne won't be tempted to kill eizer of you". Now they rested on the four-postered king sized bed of crimson, the whole room done in a red theme. Although looking like something out of a medieval movie, the room had working electronics, like the television Christophe scrolled through, trying to find the satellite American channels, while _Kyo's _"Je Cours" played in the background.

After being given a rather thorough tour of the house, Kyle got his escape break as Arianne went to the restroom to freshen up. It'd taken some backtracking to find his way about, but at the "blue room" he'd found his way back to the ballroom, and eventually the grand staircase. A passing maid had pointed out where Isabelle was, who kindly offered to take him up to Christophe. He'd been locked into their quarters, as to keep from killing his cousin, but of course he'd gotten out from the window and was no where to be found. When dusk set he'd come back, looking worse for the wear and explained he'd been digging to relieve stress.

"Ten-zousand fucking channels and nozing to watch," he growled, throwing the remote down onto the sheets and turning to face Kyle. "So, what do you zink?"

Nestling down into the warm blankets he ran a hand through his hair. "Well, you're aunt seems relatively nice, if a little ditsy, and France really is very scenic and pretty. I love the house and country, but _damn_, your cousin is insane. I'm seriously beginning to think all of you French are a little crazy."

"_Non, non_, et's in my family's genes, from my muzza's side anyway. And I should 'ave warned you about Ari."

Giving a sympathetic smile he asked, "How's your crotch doing?"

Christophe grimaced. "Quite well, zanks. I've still got to get ze little beetch for zat."

"Does it occur every time you visit?"

"Usually," the brunette replied, resting his cheek on his hand, watching Kyle. "I mean I'm usually more prepared, and she waits until ze day before, so et's a little different, but I suppose she's stressed as well."

"Oh, why?"

Before that could be answered the child stalked in, stopping dead at the sight of them in the same bed, _very_ close to each other. Changed into pajamas she seemed little less intimidating than in proper clothing. Narrowing her eyes she curled her hands into fist and asked pleasantly, "Why are you two in 'ere, _togezer_?"

"Didn't want to get murdered in my sleep," Christophe replied absently, running a hand down Kyle's arm, watching as her eyes followed the movement. "And it'd be quite rude to send Kyle 'ere back in pieces, so 'e is wiz me."

"Zat does not explain ze reason you are 'olding 'is 'and, Christophe," Arianne spat, walking like a lean cat about to pounce into the room, directing herself in Kyle's general direction. Instinctually he edged away as she got closer, curling into the brunette's side; big mistake. Coming to a halt she hissed. "Get away from my cousin."

"Arianne, shut up," Christophe said calmly, in the same deadly tone she used. Between the two Kyle was trapped in a feud of crazy-genetics.

Throwing her hands up she turned, pacing. "Oh, I get et! You came out 'ere to _fuck_ away from your parents, is zat et? Well I won't allow et!" Christophe unwound himself from the blankets, successfully capturing the girl in an arm lock after getting kicked in the shin, and led her from the room screaming curses. Several minutes later she was shoved forcefully onto her bed, looking up to meet her cousin's lethal stare.

"I won't 'ave you being a snot nosed possessive beetch, do you understand me?"

"And I don't want you being gay, but zat doesn't seem very solvable, mm?"

"You've known, and besides, your muzza 'ad to 'ave told you, or you wouldn't 'ave taken Kyle out for hours to analyze 'im. What did you find out?"

Sheepishly she looked up and admitted, "'e's got a nice ass."

Chuckling he shook his head, extending a hand to Arianne. She stared at it, puzzled. "Truce?"

"Truce," she replied with a nod, taking it and was pulled into a stand. As they began back to where Kyle was left her lips twisted into a coy smile. "You two are very much different, and yet it works so well. I am 'appy for you, Christophe, alzough I'm not particularly fond of ze idea."

"You sound like 'is bruzza," Christophe said with a scowl, tussling her hair. "Come on, time to apologize." And with that she explained her dastardly ways to the befuddled redhead and exited to plan out their stay.

---

The next morning they were awoken to a wet tongue and neatly clipped nails pawing at them. It took gruff French cursing to shove the playful Shepherd's dog away, and a glare in the direction of the door where Arianne stood to send the wake-up call away. They'd rolled back to sleep, until the she-Devil returned with ice packs, placing them between their shoulder blades. At the contact Kyle howled, lashing out and kicked Christophe, waking them both. The girl had merely smiled and informed them to get ready, they were going out horseback riding.

The air a brisk cold, the redhead clutched at his coat as they walked toward the back stables. His stomach churned in anxiousness, as he chewed numbly on his bottom lip. He didn't like horses, or rather, didn't know how to guide one and therefore wasn't comfortable around them. Arianne had assured him it was simple hand gestures and a coaxing manner, but they'd practice with him before going out.

Several mares and stallions huddled in their separate stalls, fighting off the winter cold. Christophe let out a surprising _whoop_ and sprinted to a mottled grey Carmague. The horse snuffed at his hand before stomping the ground in irritation.

"That's Charliquen Esempio, 'e's razer possessive of ze horse," Arianne said, noticing Kyle's bafflement. "We call 'im Demon, zough, when Christophe isn't 'ere."

"And I am, so shut your mouth," the brunette replied, throwing a glare in their direction. Stepping away from Charliquen he rubbed at a black stallion's nose. "I zink you should take Noir, _cher_, 'e's pretty gentle."

"I think I'd prefer not to touch the horsy, because I'll end up insulting eponine pride and I'd get myself killed."

Christophe smiled smugly with a nod and led his grey horse from the stable, not stopping to treat him with horse-apparel, although added a bit. Kyle followed, hesitant to go near the horse, but was forced as Charliquen trotted to him and stuck his nose in the red curls. Arianne burst out of the stables with a laugh on a pale horse, he later learned to be named Arachne, and cantered off into the surrounding fields. The French boy circled the horse to grin at Kyle. "Want 'elp up?"

"But I thought I wasn't—what about a saddle?"

Christophe snorted. "Charliquen doesn't like zem, we go bareback. Want 'elp?" Receiving a nod he cupped his hands and boosted Kyle up before seating himself behind the Jew. Arms around the smaller figure he grabbed onto he lead and kicked the horse into a fast run to catch up with his cousin.

Kyle found himself clutching the lead as well, leaning back into Christophe, his stomach flip-flopping at the gallop of the horse. His eyes watered as the dry air swept over his face, blowing his hair back away from his face. He had to admit, it was exhilarating to be rushed across the beautiful landscape outside of a vehicle. Arianne seemed to be enjoying herself as well, mass of dark curls a banner in the wind. So when the horses slowed to a brusque walk he couldn't help but feel something was stripped from him.

"So what do you boys 'ave planned?" Arianne asked as Arachne lurched closer, pulling her hair into a ribbon.

"We're staying 'ere for a few more days before going to see Papa," Christophe replied, is voice vibrating down Kyle's body, making him shudder. The brunette smiled to himself, resting his chin on top of his boyfriend's head.

"You're not going to let Kyle be a tourist? What kind of mean boy are you?" the girl asked, looking appalled. "You've got to let 'im use 'is God-given right of Americanism! You want to see ze _Tour Eiffel_, yes?"

Embarrassed Kyle merely nodded, face red from more than just the cold. Christophe snorted. "Fine, fine, since ze flight back is in ze middle of ze night we'll go to tour Paris zat day."

"Damn right you will," his cousin growled as she slid from Arachne's back and skipped to a small stream, covered in spots by a thin veil of ice. Picking up a rock she tossed it into the swirly waters. "So when do you two except to get married?"

Kyle almost swallowed his tongue as Christophe dismounted, and lifted him down as well. He let himself be dragged toward the stream, and barely smiled as the girl was smacked in the head.

"You know ze States don't allow zat sort of sing, Ari."

"Move to Canada, or Spain. I really don't see what ze problem is wiz wearing a ring and 'aving ze surname changed." She knelt be the stream, poking a stick into it and drew circles. "Christophe Broflovski, _non_, zat doesn't sound pleasant. Kyle DeLorne? Now zat's got a ring to et."

"Why are we talking about this with a ten year old?" Kyle choked, getting a pebble thrown at him.

"I might be ten, but my uncle is also gay, so I 'ear a lot about et. Why do adults zink children can't handle et anyway?"

Christophe answered that question, casting a smile to his flustered lover. "Children 'ave not experienced 'love', and do not 'ave a fine grasp on zeir religion, which 'appens to be ze two main focus poitns on ze debate of 'omosexual relations, ezics and religion zat is. Zerefore children are not listened to, or spoken around, as we do not want to corrupt or confuse."

"Et's still stupid," Arianne scoffed, looking up at them, Christophe now wrapped securely around the shorter boy. Rolling her eyes she stood and returned to Arachne. "Let's get out of 'ere before you two feel ze need to 'ave sex."

The next three days passed relatively quickly, and by the time they left on the twenty-forth Kyle had become use to the excessive banter and fighting. Amazingly he'd also figured out how to navigate the house without becoming desperately lost. The night before they left a small party was thrown, in which the Jew got tanked, quicker than Arianne, and stumbled around the ballroom giggling at almost everything. He ended up passing out on the stairs, waking up with a hangover and large bruise above his eye. Out of some personal mirth the cousin rode her horse beside the car all the way to the front gate before letting out a howl, and really was deemed crazy.

The drive to Christophe's father's house in Dijon was a short one, putting them there before noon. As Kyle stepped out of the car he reveled the fact it was a normal sized house, but it soon faded as his lover carefully, almost deliberately stepped toward the front door, finger hovering over the button. Taking a breath he hit the bell and waited. A man answered, blonde hair well kept a tad bit long, dressed in a clean-cut manner. Blue eyes puzzled the two teens on the porch before breaking into a smile.

"Christophe, it's good to see you!" he said, voice remarkably British before swinging his gaze to Kyle. "What a cutie, you must be Kyle! Here, come inside, I'll get your things and take them up. Your father is in the office."

"Zank you, Mathieu," Christophe replied weakly, grabbing tightly to the redhead's hand before slipping passed the Brit and into the house. It was warm and welcoming, the smell of herbs heavy, especially from the kitchen area, decorated for Christmas the following day. He looked around at trinkets and pictures, one catching his eye, of a boy with spiky hair playing with a cat that remarkably looked like Christophe. '_Aw, he was a cute kid_,' he thought before being yanked down a hall and into an office. Behind the desk sat another man, resembling the brunette teenager remarkably, although his hair was shorter cut and lighter. He looked up at their entrance, eyes widening and tearing up.

"Christophe? You actually came, come 'ere! Give your fazza a 'ug." The tension melting Christophe walked to his father and knelt down, hugging him. Kyle hid his smile behind his hand as Esther winked at him and tousled his son's hair. Scowling the brunette pulled away.

"Zat wasn't very nice."

"Introduce me to your friend, or I'll do et again."

Coyly he returned to Kyle, wrapping his arms around the blushing Jew's waist. "'e isn't my friend, Papa, 'e's my lover." The colour increased at the word 'lover'; what as he talking about, they hadn't had sex yet, or even got each other's pants off in that way!

"You're muzza didn't beetch?" Esther asked, turning away from his computer work and crossed his legs. Kyle ignored their chatter, too content by the feel of Christophe around him, his deep voice vibrating. Of course he felt dumb for ignoring them when he found Esther standing in front of him, watching curiously, amused. '_Oh yeah, like father like son_.'

"I've been told you are Jewish, and I must apologize zat we celebrate Christmas, and will be 'aving a party tomorrow. Et is up to you if you wish to attend, if not I'll give you marks to treat yourself."

"No, it won't bother me at all," Kyle was with a fake smile, finally feeling the clutches of homesickness. Senior DeLorne seemed to notice and offered a warm smile before turning back to his son.

"Why don't you show 'im up to your room?"

Catching the hint Christophe gave a nod and directed the Jew upstairs to where they would be staying. He fell onto the bed, staring at his hands sadly, ignoring his concerned boyfriend until Christophe got on his knees at eye level and forced Kyle to look at him.

"What is wrong, love?"

"I've never missed Hanukkah before," he replied with a faint smile. Christophe leaned up, brushing their lips together and placed his cell in the Jew's hands.

"Zen call 'ome, _cher_, zere is no shame in zat. I'll be downstairs if you need me." With a look of sympathy he left, leaving Kyle to lay back and dial his home phone, wondering if he'd have to call internationally if the service was from the States. After five rings he went to hang up until a sleepy voice filled the receiver.

"Hello?"

Kyle's brows knit together, who would be sleeping at one in the afternoon? Then it hit him, South Park was at least ten hours behind them. "Sorry for waking you up, Ike."

"Kyle? Jesus Christ, what do you want? Can't you call back it like, five hours?"

"I said I'm sorry!"

"Eh. So, how's France?" the sluggish voice asked.

"Pretty, and cold," Kyle replied, and silence followed. He sighed, wanting to just listen to someone's voice, and with Ike that wasn't going to happen. "Go back to sleep, Ike."

"'kay."

Hanging up he dialed Stan's number and was greeted with an irritable grunt. When he tried to force him into alertness the dial tone filled his ear. Fine, if no one wanted to talk to him that was just perfect. Clicking the phone off he went downstairs to find the three males gathered in the living room, sipping hot tea. Plopping down beside Christophe he took a glass and handed the phone back with a mutter "thanks".

"So you two are like newly weds I hear," Mathieu said with a grin behind his cup, one hand on Mr. DeLorne's knee. "Simply irresistible!"

Leaning over on Christophe shoulder he whispered behind his cup, "We're not going to turn out like them, are we?"

Christophe did the same, but it seemed more natural. "Your'e ze girl in ze relationship, et's your call."

Mathieu pouted, turning to Esther. "I think Christophe is embarrassed by me!"

"As would I be," the Frenchman muttered, getting hit in the shoulder.

"You don't get your 'special' Christmas gift now!"

Christophe rolled his eyes as if it happened all the time, Kyle just stared with his mouth open. Catching his look Esther said, "Not in front of ze children, Mathieu."

The blonde snorted, waving it away as if it was ridiculous. "Esther, don't be such a silly, they're almost in college! I'm sure they know what sex is, and probably have engaged in it before."

Kyle coughed into his cup as tea spewed from his nose, making his eyes tear up; hot liquids are _not_ supposed to be in the nasal cavities. The two men watched in amusement as Christophe grabbed several tissues and gave them to the Jew to squelch the continuous stream of tea as he was escorted tot eh bathroom to clean up. By the time they returned Kyle's face was bright red in embarrassment and he declined any more drinks. Mathieu though, picked up where he left off.

"Does that mean you two haven't made love?"

"I'm warning you, Mathieu, I do not want to know about my son's love life."

The blonde scoffed, eyeing his lover. "Liar, every parent wants to know!"

"One on one, yes, but speaking so opening like et is a study group? _Non_ _mon amor_, I cannot let you do zat."

"Oh I don't see what's the big deal! They'll eventually have to accept their sexuality if they're going to be comfortable with it," Mathieu argued, receiving a long sigh from Esther. The two teens sat back, watching, Christophe staring hard at the Brit, Kyle noticing how lovely the carpet complimented the hardwood flooring.

"And zey will, togezer, _alone_."

To stop any further complaints Christophe said, "Fucking Christ, we 'aven't 'ad sex, alright? Now let's stop zis silliness."

"And why not?" Mathieu demanded, as if it was a sin to be a virgin at eighteen. With an angry breath Christophe stood and clapped his hands together, smoothing out the air.

"I'm out, coming _cher_?"

Kyle repeated the motion and followed the brunette out the front door, stopping long enough to throw on his jacket. Neither of the men followed, knowing Christophe would probably pull and gun and shoot at them until they were dead or retreated. Kyle had to jog to keep up with Christophe's pace, and was glad when two blocks from the house he slowed, allowing the Jew to return to walking. Another block in silence and Christophe stopped completely, pulling himself up onto terrace wall, helping Kyle up as well.

"Sorry, I should 'ave warned you about flamboyant Mathieu. 'e doesn't see anyzing wrong wiz sex-speak, I 'ope 'e didn't upset you any."

"Nah, he's was actually pretty cool when he wasn't talking about, well, us," Kyle admitted with a smile, running a hand through his hand, fingers tangling themselves in the black streaks framing his face. "Got me thinking is all."

"About?"

"Well we have been together for nearly three months and we haven't really done anything," he replied, flushing dangerously. Christophe just gave him a look and pulled up the edge of the Jew's bright blue sweater, pointing indignantly at a hickey placed above the hip.

"Zat is nozing?"

"I mean lower than belt level."

Smoothing the shirt back into place Christophe gave him a look. "Do you want to?"

"I, I don't know," Kyle confessed, leaning forward on his elbows. "I mean having sex with a chick is pretty scary, and you're conditioned to know exactly what to do since forth grade. As a dude you're completely in control of the situation, unless you're a real pussy or kinky son of a bitch, but with another dude it's different, and you aren't really taught to do it. Plus, I don't think my ass would really forgive me."

Christophe scratched at his head, chuckling at the last addition to that comment. "Well you know my fazza 'as been, well, doing et for at least twenty years, we could talk to 'im about et."

Kyle looked at him as if he was completely stupid. "Talk to a man I barely know about being boned by his son? Oh, yeah, that'd go over very well."

Grinning he decked Kyle in the head. "Per'aps, but 'e would try to 'elp."

"I think he was right when he said we had to figure it our for ourselves, or it wouldn't really be commitment, you know?"

"Mm, yeah."

Kyle looked up at him, brow cocked, head tilted. "You mean you're completely clueless, even though you've had girlfriends?"

'_Why don't you just ask if I'm a virgin_?' Christophe thought to himself, smiling; Kyle was too nice for his own good. "No, not completely. I don't zink anyone over ze ripe age of nine is 'completely clueless', just inexperienced. In zat case, zen yes."

"But dude, _girlfriends_!"

"And I told you from ze start, I'm gay. Why would I fuck a chick? And I 'aven't dated anozer guy, so—"

"I get it, I get it," Kyle said, waving his hands to stop that thought from going somewhere else.

"Same to you, I presume?"

He fell into thought at such a simple question. He'd unknowingly been voted as Bebe's boyfriend, crushed on Rebecca Cotswold , and loved the biggest bitch of South Park high (and in turn the most popular). He'd also formed a crush on his best friend, although looking back on it now it was more of a phase and questioning than anything, because he _had_ been noticing how some of the boys he'd gone to school with blossomed into handsome young men. And then Christophe came along, stripping any chick-loving hormones from him. The answer was a slap in the face, but also a huge relief. Turning to Christophe he grinned.

"Yeah, yeah I'm gay."

"Splendid, want to go to ze pastry shoppe on zat stunning realization?"

Despite being a mild diabetic, he linked his arm with Christophe, deserving a treat. "Let's go, lover, they'd better have something with cherries or I'm just going to die."

---

Kyle woke up later than he'd planned on Christmas morning, grumbling as he sat up and the cold wrapped around him. Not gaining any French curses he glanced to his left to find the bed empty, and rather neat. How'd he miss someone getting out of bed and straightening it? Shaking it off he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked out the window to be greeted with sunlight and snow coated rooftops. Why didn't it snow in France at a reasonable hour when people could watch? A tap on the door sent those thoughts scattering.

"Kyle honey, are you awake?"

"Yeah."

Mathieu popped his head in, smiling in motherly affection. It was actually rather creepy, but what did you expect? "Christophe went off, but promised he'd be back in the afternoon. I'm making breakfast, is there anything you'd want to request?"

It was France, there had to be French cuisine, even if an Englishman was making it. "Crêpes?"

Mathieu seemed to startle at that, shocked that an American boy would ask for something French. "Okay, any sides? Eggs, toast, sausage?"

He made a disgusted noise at the mention of sausage. "Everything but the ladder is fine, I can't eat anything remotely pork."

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry for mentioning it! I forgot about the kosher rule," he said, hands on his hips like he was going to scold himself. Yep, Kyle had better not turn out like Mathieu, or he'd shoot himself. "Well I'll go start on that. If you'd like you can shower, you know where the bathroom is."

Without replying Kyle crawled out of bed and grabbed a change of cloths, his hairdryer, and personal items before trudging out to the bathroom. By then he'd gotten use to the shower and bathtub being in one room and the toilet in another. At first he thought the custom was a little weird, but after he thought about it, it made perfect sense. If someone really had to pee and another person was in the shower, they didn't have to wait.

Jumping in he sighed as the hot steam swirled around him and the hot water drenched his curls. He still had to get something to go along with his gift to Christophe for Christmas; even if he didn't celebrate he felt the need. Before leaving he'd given all of his other friend's their gifts, leaving one still unopened. However he had no idea what to get. Christophe was a gun-freak, had some obsessive behaviour with his shovel, loved _Donnie Darko_ to no end, had a weird eighties music taste, but overall nothing jumped out to him. Sighing he shut the water off and dried himself before getting dressed; orange turtle neck with black bands on the arms, jeans, frog socks, studded belt, and usual Star of David necklace. After primping his hair, and finding it quite unresponsive to styling gels and mouse, he threw on a black and green knit toboggan Stan had gotten him for "Hanukkah" with another Star stitched in the front.

With a sigh he tramped down the stairs, nose leading him to the kitchen where food was set in the place deemed "his", along with a glass of tea. What was it with Europeans and tea? Esther sat at his spot, reading a paper in French, of course.

"Morning Kyle," he said absently, setting the paper down as Mathieu set a plate in front of him.

"Morning Mr. DeLorne," he said as he began to eat. No one seemed bothered by the lack of conversation, except Mathieu, but they pleasantly ignored his ranting, until they finished their meal. Esther looked at him with his head cocked, smacking the Brit in the stomach.

"So, Kyle, is zere anyzing you need to get done today?"

"Actually, I do need to go out and finish shopping for Christophe," he admitted, feeling horrible that he would also need a French-speaking escort.

"Oh, can I go?" Mathieu pleaded before anyone could say a thing. "You need someone to communicate for you, yes? Let me go, let me!"

Kyle looked over to Mr. DeLorne in question. The Frenchman gave him an amused look. "Don't ask me if you can take 'im out, if you zink you can deal wiz 'im, 'ave at et. If you'd prefer me to take you, zen zat is fine as well."

Not wanting to insult Mathieu, or bother Esther he just smiled. "I'd be glad to go with Mathieu."

"Oh goody! I'll finish cleaning up and you can, well I don't know, whatever you teenagers do. I shouldn't be long."

Kyle gave a nod as the blonde took his plate and began to clean it. He stayed put though, not knowing what else to do. Esther gave him a look of pity as Mathieu finished up and stole him away. In the car they drove around for a while, just chatting before the Brit asked, "Now what are you getting Christophe?"

"No idea."

Giving him a skeptical look he shrugged, knowing how hard it was to buy for the DeLorne boys. Eyes lighting up he asked, "Has he ever said you act like a certain animal?"

Hesitating to such an odd question he gave a nod. "A rabbit."

"Alright, you've got to trust me on this; I have the perfect idea."

---

As Christophe drove them out to only the Gods' know where, grey clouds building above, Kyle had to admit Mathieu's idea was brilliant. Upon returning home Christophe had grabbed a blanket and Kyle before they were off. Questioned of the strange behaviour he merely stated it'd be cruel enjoying a Christmas party when Kyle didn't celebrate, and he didn't want to be surrounded by a bunch of drunk, gay guys.

As the city lights disappeared behind them Kyle cocked his head in inquiry. "'tophe, where are we going?"

"Somewhere away from annoying Christmas sheet," he replied, turning the rental onto an old dirt road, surrounded by cotton fields covered in a light bed of snow. The trees lining the road were bare, minus the great pines, green poking out from under the snow. The clouds, still growing, seemed wicked, reflecting the setting sun and melting to crimson. Christophe stopped the car, motioning for Kyle to follow him out. Pulling his coat tighter he stepped onto the gravel, barely able to close the door before Christophe dragged him off in the direction of running water.

"Where are you taking me?" Kyle asked a little irritably, a low hanging branch nearly stealing his toboggan.

"Somewhere," was the reply, being lead carefully across steppingstones to a creek, half a moon reflecting. Fireflies danced in the air, giving everything a mystical feel that Kyle couldn't help but notice. And finally he stopped, pointing a black, gloved finger to a small grove, still fresh and blossoming. Kyle stared in awe.

"Zat is where I buried my first cat, she died on Christmas day, which is why it grows still in ze dead of winter," he explained, Kyle's hand tightening its grip.

"I'm sorry, Christophe," he said softly.

Snorting the brunette wrapped an arm around Kyle. "I'm fucking wiz you, I 'ave no idea why it's still green."

Narrowing his eyes the Jew pushed Christophe away in mock hate, the French boy slipping on the frozen ground, falling backwards. Instinctually a hand went out to grab the thing closest to right himself, being Kyle. Of course, like anyone attempting such a thing should know, Kyle was pulled down on top of him as thunder rolled across the heavens, and the clouds split, pouring rain on top of them.

Even as the redhead clambered off of the groaning Christophe, who had taken all of Kyle's weight on his stomach, he couldn't help but find the icy rain a tab bit sexy. It'd been something he had learned from every country music video he had ever seen, the wetter, the more romantic. As Christophe pulled himself up, catching his breath and shoving his soaking hair from his eyes, he seemed to notice it as well. Grabbing Kyle by the shoulders he licked his lips, indeed tasting cherry lip balm, before kissing him full. The Jew wrapped his arms around the brunette's neck as sheets of water pounded down onto them. Lightning streak across the sky, terrifyingly close as Christophe yanked the soaking toboggan from red curls.

"Although I love where this is going, I don't want to get electrocuted," Kyle said, drawing back and offering a hand to Christophe, pulling him up as well.

"Agreed."

They backtracked their way to the car at an all out run, laughing as blue light forked across the dark sky, lighting everything up remarkably. Climbing into the backseat of the car Kyle giggled, water streaming down his face.

"Oh that was just great," he said grinning. "I mean the timing, it was perfect!"

Christophe gave a nod, just as amused. "Ironic, yes? But now we can open gifts."

"I want to go first," the redhead said, pulling off his soaked coat and hung it over the front seat as if it'd help. Leaning down to the floorboard he grabbed Mathieu's idea and handed it over, wrapped in now wet green paper. Doing the same with his jacket Christophe took the offered gift, eyeing it as it squished in his hands. Carefully peeling the paper off he laughed as a stuffed rabbit fell into his wet hands, dressed as Kyle, two black spots dyed where the temples would be.

"Clever," Christophe said, tempted to hug it, but not wanting to get it wet. Before he could hand his gift over a small box fell out of the mass of rabbit. Setting the bunny up front where it wouldn't get wet he opened it as well, taking out an ID bracelet with "Mole" engraved in a flourish of curls on the front and "28:6:42:12" on the back. At spotting the numbers he laughed, leaning over and kissed Kyle in gratitude.

"You remembered ze world ending number," he said, having the Jew clip the bracelet onto him.

"Yeah, you've had me see _Donnie Darko_ more times than I can remember."

Christophe grinned as he handed over a ribbon-wrapped box to Kyle. He opened it easily, squealing as he lifted out a green ski-cap that looked exactly like his old one, down to the chocolate stain on the left ear flap. Of course he knew better.

"Et's not your old one, of course, but I tried my best." A small jewelry shaped box was handed over this time. Kyle opened the lid, biting his lip as he pulled out a ring engraved "_Mon Couer est a Vous_" on the outer band, the inside with their names overlapped with linked hearts. He slipped it on, noticing that Christophe wore the match.

"Thank you so much," he said with a smile, finally noticing his clothes were still very wet and cold. "Damn rain, I'm freezing."

Christophe nodded, shivering as well. "Mm, yeah."

With a growl Kyle pulled off his sweater and threw it over the seat tot eh front, followed a second later by his pants and shoes. Leaning down he grabbed the blanket, still amazingly dry as the brunette followed suit and stripped down to his boxers. For the first time ever Kyle was glad he was small as they maneuvered to lay on the back seat, entwined. How did people ever do it in such a small space? Shrugging it off Kyle reached his newly ringed hand out, examining it.

"You know, I really, really love you," he finally said, ignoring the brunette's dripping hair on his shoulder.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Sitting up on an elbow to look down at the Jew he smiled, tucking a stray curl away in the mess of wetness. "Well, I love you too, more so nearly naked in ze back of a rental."

Green eyes sparkling mischievously in the flashing dark he asked, "What're you thinking, 'tophe?"

"You know exactly what I'm zinking," was the reply as he leaned down and captured Kyle in a mind blowing kiss. He wasn't sure what was exactly mind blowing about it, perhaps the lack of oxygen, or the driven passion, but it was indeed great. Breaking the kiss Christophe just smiled lazily at Kyle expression before leaning down farther, licking along his neck. The redhead's breath escaped in a hiss as he tilted away from the French boy, one hand wrapped in the brunette tangles, the other tracing circles.

"You know I hate people touching my neck," he managed to say as his lover kissed down his throat.

"Yes, I know, but I absolutely love your reaction."

Kyle felt himself blush at that as Christophe moved over his collarbone, nibbling now. His hands played down the Jew's stomach, raising the hairs across his body at the gentle brushing. Pushing Christophe up he looked at him seriously as the blanket fell around them to create a sort of cave of warmth. His heart was beating at hummingbird rate, face remaining a vivid pink.

"Do you love me enough to hurt me if I asked?" Kyle asked finally, noticing Christophe's chocolate eyes waver in indecision. Realizing why the question was asked he gave a nod. "Then Christophe, hurt me."

---

Everything changed after that night. They were both a lot more open to each other, and everyone else for that matter. They were even more inseparable than Stan and Wendy, without the hour breakups that made that couple so cute. No one dared doubt they were together, nor did their parents even try to reject it; how could you possibly tear between two people that had shared something so tender? Of course no one knew what they had did on Christmas night except them, though Kenny had a sneaking suspicion, along with Mr. DeLorne and Mathieu.

The day after was spent sleeping off exhaustion from Christmas night and returning to warmth. The twenty-seventh they took deliberate caution to avoid each other, raising the suspicion among the adults, and making them both miserable. By the end of that day they realized it was stupid to pussyfoot around what had been done, and actually embraced it warmly. The rest of their vacation they hung around the house, went out to the opera house, and gorged themselves in French cuisine and wine. Kyle did get his day of fun in Paris, much to his delight, and then they were back home and in school for another five months.

The discussion of the last half of the year was prom, who was going with who, who was going in what limo, who was going to make court. Their group was pretty obvious to everyone; Kyle would go with Christophe, Stan with Wendy, Cartman with Bebe, and Kenny with Red. No one could figure out why Bebe dumped Butters for Eric, nor did they understand why Kenny had already chosen a date so early in the year, but they didn't bother to argue.

AP classes finally began to take a toll on everyone's hangout time as teachers piled on assignments, economics being the killer. No one ever passed the test in that class, as the teacher didn't teach what was on the test, and only occasionally could Craig get a copy of the answers to pass out to everyone. Even though Mr. Brady was a slave driver in AP bio, as long as you got good test scores and did in class work, homework was no big deal. Ms. Arzillo's class remained the easiest, as she incorporated her drama skills into the literature, not even bothering to give homework except the term projects.

Spring break was a relief, most of the seniors having planned a trip to the Californian coast to hit up the surf, though Stan, Kyle, and Cartman "mysterious caught the flu" and had to stay behind. It was also an excuse to keep Christophe away as they practiced their number for the spring talent show (Kenny included). It was something they'd been practicing for months, but were tightly squeezing into one week to get perfect and change a few details. It was a running bet from the beginning of the year between them and Craig's squad, who would win the talent show, now up to over five hundred bucks. They were going to win, as for told by Eric's dreams, because although "stupid Jew's have no rhythm, they have kick ass voices". It was a week after spring break they finally got to prove this fact.

---

The night of the talent show was a Thursday, giving the winners a day to gloat in public, something they all knew Mrs. Titi had planned, being fully aware of the bet. Backstage they were dressed as a punk band might be, ironically different from the song they'd be covering. Kyle pulled nervously on his hair, the streaks darker then ever, having been newly dyed the day before. Stan rested an arm on his shoulder, making sure not to touch the hair that had gone through nearly a bottle of mouse to keep it from frizzing. He smiled, grabbing Kyle's hand and stopping it from ruining the hard work put into it.

"Dude, chill out, you're gonna end up projectile-vomiting on the crowd if you keep this up."

Kyle grinned at the irony of that. "I'm nervous, dude, what if we suck? What if we're in five hundred?"

"That's the chance you take when you bet against someone, but you know fatass has a knack for knowing money," Stan said, kneeling down in front of him. "I think we actually have a chance."

"We'd better 'have a chance' or I'm screwed," Kenny said, prancing over in low cut, tight jeans that 'accentuated his ass', or so he claimed. "I really need the money."

"We have a chance, retards, or I wouldn't have agreed to do this," Eric said plainly as he walked over, seventies hair feathered outward.

"You may have a chance against Jimmy's jokes, but not us you buttpipes," Craig said with a laugh, Token, Tweek, and Terrence laughing along as if on cue.

"Oh please, come off of it, we've got _Kyle_ singing," Stan said defensively.

"Yeah well we've got _Token_ and he one the championships in forth grade, remember assrammers?"

"Oh God, stop fighting! It's just, it's too much!" Tweek said, twitching as he grabbed Craig's arm. "Keep it up and I'm out."

Everyone had come to accept they to be best friends after beating the crap out of each other in Shop class in third grade, and perhaps even a little more. It wasn't dedicated love worthy of promise-rings, but it was unnaturally close.

"Fine, Tweek, we'll just kill 'em on stage anyway," Craig said with a sigh. "Come on guys, let's get ready."

"God, Tweek and Craig are _soo_ gay you guys," Eric said as the other group walked away, plopping down on the floor. None of them answered, as the announcements started and the first performers were called up. Three acts laters Craig's group set up their equipment and began a cover of "Helena" by _My Chemical Romance_. Cartman burst into laughter, pointing.

"Ha ha ha ha ha haah! They had to get a black guy to play a pasty pale Goth, ha ha ha ha ha haah!"

"Don't be such a racist bastard, fatass," Kyle hissed, hitting Eric in the stomach.

"He actually has a point, Kyle, it does seem kind of stupid. Hell, Craig would've made a better Gerald."

"But he'd got no singing talent, duh," Kenny said rolling his eyes as if it was obvious. "And even if he did, he wouldn't sing. He's known to be the top asshole, and assholes don't sing sweetly." It was amazing, really, how Craig-the-pussy had become Craig-don't-fuck-with-me-buttpipe.

After much gloating by the _My Chem_ group, and three more acts, they were called up as the challenge group. The drapes dropped as they set their things up, Cartman on drums, Stan on acoustic guitar, Kenny on electric, Wendy and Red backing up with violin. Kyle grabbed the mic, nervously wringing it as he chewed his lower lip.

"You'll do great, dude," Stan said, checking the tuning on his guitar.

"You better do great, we've got _five hundred_ riding on your voice, Jaw-boy!" Cartman growled, twirling the sticks between his fingers expertly. If the phonics monkey had taught him anything, it was playing drums. Kyle rolled his eyes, but didn't reply as butterflies erupted in his stomach.

"Now we'll be introducing our last act, the challengers to Craig's group featuring Kyle, Kenny, Stan, Cartman, with Red and Wendy backing them up, covering a song by _Rascal Flatts_ called 'Some Say'. Hit it, boys!" Ms. Titi said and they began to play, the curtains drawing back and the lights dimmed to rest on Kyle. As the intro played he walked to the edge of the stage, taking a breath as he spotted Christophe in the front of the crowd, giving him a look.

"_There's that staaar, the one they said we'd never reach. Just close your eyes, there's the missing moon, there's the Milky-Way, Heaven's straight ahead, we'll be there today_," he switched the mic to his left hand, adding an arch gesture as the lights flashed several different colours. "_Rainbows right and left, sunshine everywhere, if it couldn't be baby, how did we get here_?"

The band members voices mingled with Kyle's, echoing. "_(Some say) Some say, we'll never get it off the ground. (Some say) Some say, we'll never make it out of town. (Someday) That someday, we'll end up a world apaaaart_!" Kyle stopped pacing, enjoying himself as he directed every world to Christophe. "_(Some say) And some say, we're a bunch of crazy kids. (Some day) And some say, that's exactly what they did. And I say you got to go with your heeeeaaart, and baby look where we are._"

As the transverse played he walked casually across the stage to the front and sat, kicking his legs on the edge. "_There's that hoooome, the one they said we'd never share_," shaking his head he pushed back his hair with a smile, eyes wandering over the crowd and spotting Ike a seat back from Christophe. "_And just, clooooose your eyes_." He got back on stage, walking slowly toward Eric, until the last line he turned and looked over his shoulder at the crowd. "_There's the picket fence, there's our mailbox. Puppy on the porch and roses up the walk, shinny minivan, kids in every seat, someday we'll look back and say it wasn't just a dreeeeaaam_!"

He walked to Stan as the chorus played again, seeming interest with the fine movements of his fingers across the strings. "_(Some say) Some say, we'll never get it off the ground. (Some say) Some say, we'll never make it out of town. (Some day) That someday, we'll end up a world apaaaart! (Some say) And some say, we're a couple of crazy kids. (Some say) And some say, that's exactly what they did. And I say, you've got to go with your heeeeaaart, and baby look where we are_."

As instruments cut in Kyle trotted to the edge of the stage, pointing to Christophe and motioning him up. He shook his head violently, but with a shove from Ike stumbled and was drug up to stand awkwardly in front of the watching crowd.

"_(Some say) Some say, we'll never get it off the ground. (Some say) Some say, we'll never make it out of town. (Some day) That someday, we'll end up a world apaaaart! (Some say) And some say, we're a couple of crazy kids,_" he pointed to himself before jacking a thumb in Christophe's direction, grinning at his distraught look. "_(Some say) And some say, that's exactly what they did. And I say, you've got to go with your heeeeaaart_," he wrapped an arm around the brunette's waist before motioning with his mic at the crowd. "_And baby look where we are_."

They faded off, going back and forth between the band saying "Some say" and Kyle, adding a few "ooohs" in for kicks and a "some day". The light dimmed as the volume did until it was completely black, before switching on and signifying the end. Cheers erupted, their family members giving them a standing applause. As Kyle beamed at the crowd Christope leaned over muttering:

"I'll kill you for zis."

"I love you too."

Ms. Titi urged them backstage, Christophe being excused to return to the crowd as 'voting' was done. There Craig waited, smugly scuffing his boots on the ground. As he spotted Kyle he just laughed.

"So you did a gay-ass country song for your gay-ass lover, huh?"

"Damn right," Kyle said cheerfully, sliding down onto the floor and gratefully accepting a towel from Wendy to wipe the sweat away.

"Well you did a Goth song with a black singer, Craig, that's pretty retarded too. When have you ever seen a black Goth?" Cartman replied, pointing his drum sticks at Craig in a scolding manner.

"Wait, you guys have ripped on me for almost everything, now because I'm black? You guys are dicks," Token said, eyes narrowing, crossing his arms.

"God, don't be such a gaping vagina about it, it's true. In the history of forever there has never been a black Goth."

As they bantered back and forth, Kyle sighed, relieved it was over. Stan tousled his hair, not needing to take caution with it. "Dude, you were great!"

"Yeah Kyle, it was a really sweet choice," Red said with an offered smile.

"At first, I'll admit, I thought it was a stupid choice but damn! I was wrong, you portrayed it perfectly," Wendy added.

Returning from running off Craig's gang Cartman looked down at the redhead. "It was still pretty gay, but Jew-boy has one helluva voice, so it worked."

Stan's eyes widened in shock. "Was that Cartman praising Kyle? I don't believe it. Pinch me."

"Gladly," Eric said grinning, pinching him hard enough to leave a nasty bruise. As Stan was about to get revenge Ms. Titi called every contestant back onto the stage.

"Everyone gave it their best to create one awesome talent show," she began, smiling like always. "But I'm proud to announce the winners of the talent show, and a running bet between the boys is Kyle, Kenny, Stan, Cartman, Red, and Wendy!"

They all let out their joy in their own signature way, the girls squealing, Stan and Kyle high fiving each other, Kenny air humping before latching onto Cartman, who was laughing at an enraged Craig. The principle presented the readhead with a bouquet of roses, which he stared at oddly before handing it off tot eh girls to split. Surfing the crowd he spotted Christophe in the back shadows near the door, watching him. He raised two fingers before pointing outside and leaving the building. Kyle did as he was told, giving it two minutes to talk amongst his peers and congratulated before slipping away, not out of Stan's notice.

"Dude, where are you going, we're going out to discuss ways on spending the money!"

"I'll have to catch up on your tomorrow, sorry dudes," he said apologetically, being waved off as he went through the door he'd seen Christophe disappear from. Out in the wall way he looked around, puzzled as he found no trace of the French boy.

"I 'ad no idea you could sing so well," the accented sounded, startling Kyle enough to flinch, whipping around to face Christophe, who leaned against the far wall. With a sigh he stalked to him, receiving a broad smile. "I mean when you sing to ze radio you're good, but not like zat."

"I'm never performing either, 'tophe," he returned as if it was obvious. A hand lifted his chin before he was kissed deeply, leaving his mind spinning.

"Come wiz me, I can guarantee whatever you buy wiz ze 'prize' money won't be nearly as much fun as I 'ave planned."

And of course it wasn't, because _nothing_ beats Karaoke.

---

French/English Glossary

_Cher_—Dear

_Non_—No

_Mon Dieu_—My god

_Cherí_—Sweetheart

_Bonjour Christophe, ça va—_Hello Christophe, how are you?

_Je vais bien. Et vous?_—I'm fine, and you?

_Trés, trés bien_—Very very good

_Mon souer_—My sister

_Tour Eiffel_—Eiffel Tower

_Non mon amor_—No my love

_Mon Couer est a Vous_—My heart is yours


	4. Chapter Three

**Warnings: **Course language, slash, abuse of italics, abuse of sea slugs.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything, this is just for fun; I'm really not trying to target myself in a lawsuit.

**A/N: **I've left out the glossary, since you should be familiar with the French terms used by now. The Author's Note is relocated there this chapter, so have a good read.

* * *

"I go back to the smell of an old gym floor  
The taste of salt on the Carolina shore  
After graduation and drinkin' goodbye to friends  
And I go back to watchin' summer fade to fall  
Growin' up too fast and I do recall  
Wishin' time would stop right in its tracks  
Every time I hear that song, I go back, I go back"

-"I Go Back" Kenny Chesney

Prom was the big event of the year, everything having been planned out months before the big day. The theme was "A Night in Paradise", so the Capok Tree had been decorated accordingly to give the place a regal, mystic feel that could stop time. Outfits were matched with dates, limos were ordered, after parties had been set, along with other plans. The student council held a vote on what band they wanted to book for the event, tallying down to a six way tie: _the Beatles_, _Taking Back Sunday_, _The Rasmus, The All American Rejects, Relient K, _and _Incubus._ Of course _the Beatles_ were scratched out and replaced by _Hot Hot Heat_. A few days before prom Ms. Titi has announced one of the bands had been booked and would be there, but they'd have to wait and see.

Like Homecoming, no one was surprised by who made court, except of course when Kyle and Christophe had been spotted on the list. Alice had shook with rage and spat at the Jew that if he beat any of the girls, he'd die a horribly unpleasant death. The accusation was thought preposterous since he was male, until the snarling girl had showed him the ballet, his name scrawled under the girls' side. He'd ranted and raved through the student council, teachers, administration, right up to Ms. Titi, receiving the same blank look and question each time:

"So you aren't the girl in the relationship?"

The day of prom he sat on his living room floor, Noémie tugging at his hair from behind, Christophe receiving the same treatment but from his mother. As the women talked idly about their own prom nights over their son's heads, the boys played a violent game of _Mario Kart_. Every now and then one of the women would yank, causing the boy playing to run off the track and scowl as he lost.

At four they were released from the clutches of their mothers to get dressed, trudging upstairs and stopping long enough to see what had been done to their hair. Kyle's looked like normal, sticking out slightly in the back but otherwise the curls fell in a disarray. He noted the frizz was gone and the auburn shined, marking the natural copper highlights, and ebony of the two streaks he still sported. He'd thought about dying over them back to his natural colour, but decided against it, not even remembering himself without them. Christophe's hair was amazingly flat and lighter than the malted browns and blacks it usually seemed. The brunette locks also seemed velveteen, making Kyle resist the urge to reach up at pet the French boy.

They dressed in silence, minus Christophe's grumbling at choice of outfits. The Jew had to disagree with the Mole's negative comments as he straightened his boyfriend's blazer and fastened the scarlet carnation to the front. Under the black blazer was a plain white button-up shirt, falling loose around the waist of maroon pinstripe pants that flared slightly around the black dress shoes. He was dressed the same, except around his left wrist was a corsage instead of an ID bracelet, and around his neck hung the usual Star of David.

"Why couldn't we 'ave gone in, I don't know, all black?" Christophe whined as they went to meet their awaiting parents.

"We aren't going to a Death Convention, we're going to prom, that's why."

"Eh, I don't see ze difference."

Kyle rolled his eyes, dragging him down the stairs, being met with squeals from the women, and smiles from the other Broflovski boys. Noémie immediately grabbed them by the wrist and led them back into the living room.

"Now for ze makeup."

Christophe shot up at that, eyes narrowing. "Oh _non_, I am not wearing female pretty-products."

"Just to define your eyes, love," Noémie said with a slight plea.

"My eyes are sheet brown, _no one_ wants to look at sheet brown."

"I rather like shit brown, thanks," Kyle said dryly as Ms. DeLorne grabbed his chin to steady him and began to apply black eyeliner. Ike sat across the room, making faces at his brother until Gerald smacked him. A minute later Noémie turned to him, and seeing the puppy-dog look Kyle gave Christophe sighed, defeated. As soon as he was done with the make-up treatment, the cameras came out.

"Okay, boys, give us a cute picture to send to all our family!" Sheila said, the couple grumbling under their breaths and rolling their eyes. Complying to the wishes of Ms. Broflozski Christophe wrapped his right arm around Kyle's shoulders, left seeking out Kyle's hand as they both flashed pearly whites, and were in turn blinding by the light from the Kodak digital camera. Hissing in pain they broke to wipe at their eyes.

"Sorry about that, huns, let's try again,' Sheila said almost coyly as they resumed position, smiles now forced and had their picture taken without flash. Noémie snatched the camera from the Jew's hands and said cheerfully:

"Now spontaneous!"

Knowing his mother Christophe turned Kyle's face to him and leaned down, lips meeting as the picture was taken.

"Wedding style!"

Sighing he lifted a gleeful Kyle like a bride as a slew of other positions were called off. At "ballroom dancers" Ike's voice inturrupted.

"Kiley, some kids with black hair is here with the limo that I've never seen before!"

"Craig, it's Craig," the annoyed voice responded. After the talent show ordeal the raven-haired boy had congratulated them, agreeing they did a better job. He'd even been a good sport and treated them all at the arcade.

"See ya later Mom, Ms. DeLorne," Kyle said, linking arms with Christophe and kissed both women on the cheek. The brunette followed suit as they tramped toward the door.

"You've got your tickets, right boys?" Noémie called, a pair of tickets appearing in her son's hands from somewhere within his jacket. "Have fun zen."

"Yep!" Kyle grabbed Craig and kicked the door shut. He looked like every other prom-stud in a black tux, shaggy hair neatly trimmed. Climbing into the limo he took a seat by Tweek, the only other people present being Stan and Wendy. Cuddling next to Christophe he looked oddly between the two.

"You're taking Tweek to the dance?"

"Yeah, what's the problem buttpipe?"

"I didn't think—"

"I'm not boning him, moron," Craig said rolling his eyes as Tweek started a twitching episode. "We're going as _friends_."

"Dude, Kyle's got a point," Stan began as Wendy giggled. "You're one of the most popular dudes in school, you could have had any chick, and you're taking Tweek."

Tweek leapt for the door, trying to make a desperate escape, only to be held back by Craig. Thrashing to try to get away he moaned, "Oh, God, let me outta here! It's too much, oh God, it's just—ahh!" Enough space giving he turned in Craig's grasp, glaring accusingly. "I told you this wasn't a good idea! They're on to us, oh Jesus Christ, my parents are going to kill me when they find out! I was supposed to inherit the business, but I can't do that if I'm dead! Oh, God."

Wrapping his arms around Tweek the bully of the century pet the blonde affectionately, calming him to a few twitches. Eyeing them he said, "You guys had better not tell anyone of this, or I'll have your dicks on a stick."

"It's not like we care, Craig, if we did Christophe and Kyle wouldn't be in here with us," Wendy replied tartly. "Anyway it's not like we didn't—" Stan clamped a hand over his girlfriend's mouth, stopping her from causing another outburst from Tweek.

The limo quickly filled with couples, becoming boisterous. Eric even resisted pointing out to Butters (who was going with Kelly), that Bebe was his chick now. Simply put there was a lot of spit-swapping going on.

Arriving at the dance they all linked arms, skipping in passed the giggling teachers that had agreed to "chaperone". They split once inside, finding other couples to chat with. Kyle and Christophe stood toward the back near the stairs engaged in a conversation about decorations and punch with Kenny and Red when Kelly trotted over in a long silver gown, smiling gorgeously.

"Hey Ken, mind if we switch dates?" she asked, adding a slightly pouty note to her voice, a voice that could seduce anything capable of hearing sound.

Kyle watched with a hidden smile as his blonde friend's hand squeezed a bit tight around Red's waist. He genuinely like the shy redhead that would blush whenever called on in class, yet was confident in front of her peers. But knowing Kenny, he wouldn't get too attached.

"Only if I get to see you two kiss," the blonde replied with a twisted smile. Ah, yes, good ol' Kenny giving anything up, as long as he got lesbian action in return.

"Doesn't zat mean you'll be 'ere wiz Leopold?" Christophe asked, tilting his head at the inquiry. Kenny waved if off as if it didn't matter.

"Yeah, so? I like Butters. But I like two girls tonguing each other better."

Sighing Kyle slipped away from the scene to try and find the fidgety Butters. He was found near the doors leading into the garden, cracking his knuckles against each other. As Kyle approached he jumped, eyeing the Jew.

"Wh—what d'you want?"

"So you've got a thing for Mr. Man-whore himself, eh?"

Butters blushed, rubbing at his cheeks in self-incrimination. "Wh—what d'you mean?"

Smiling coyly, he lowered his head, looking up from under his bangs in an I-know-your-secret style. Butters became even more anxious. "Come on now, why else would you ask Kelly to switch dates?"

"Don't you dare kiss _my_ date, Broflovski," Kenny's voice rang out, though it seemed more amused than angry. Turning to face the McCormick boy Kyle gave him a defiant look, which Kenny picked up on quickly. "You do, and I'll take DeLorne into the bathroom to have some fun."

"Ze bathrooms are so unsanitary," Christophe muttered, shoving passed Kenny and put a protective arm around Kyle.

"Like the backseat of a car was any better," Kyle whispered back, being smacked across the head. Kenny just rolled his eyes, grinning like he knew and drug a blushing Butters off as Ms. Titi ran up to them.

"Come on, boys, we've got court to announce!"

They were drug up the back stairs to the second floor to wait while the other courties were gathered. Kyle averted his eyes from Wendy and Stan, who were rested up against one wall in a tongue tangle. Even from several yards away he could smell the alcohol on them; it had barely been half an hour, how did they manage to get their hands on alcohol? The dwarfish principle didn't seem to notice, though, as she returned with a beaming Alice, who immediately glowered at them. With a microphone in hand Ms. Titi stepped around the curtain, waving them all around and said quite clearly:

"Boys and girls, children please listen—SHUT THE HELL UP!" Returning to her normal cheerful demeanor she continued. "It's been a wonderful year, and of course we've got prom king, queen, prince, and princess to announce. So let's move on with it! It's not a surprise that these two made it all the way to prom-highest, having been together strong for almost five years now, our prom king and queen, Stanley Marsh and Wendy Testaburger!"

The two stepped forward, being awarded little plastic crowns, sashes, and to Wendy a huge bouquet of flowers. They just grinned pleasantly as cheers erupted, stepping down to the first landing of the stairs to wait for the next couple.

"But we can't forget the prince and his princess! Come forth Christophe DeLorne and…Alice Gardner?"

Alice grabbed the brunettes arm enthusiastically, prying him away from Kyle to receive their crowns and peer's cheers. Christophe threw the Jew a look akin to "help me" as Alice led them down the stairs to where Wendy and Stan were waiting.

"Now our couples will share a dance to our unveiled band—"

'_Please don't be Yellowcard, dead Lord _please _not Yellowcard_,' Kyle thought to himself as the crowd split to allow the court to pass in the middle of the dance floor. '_I don't want the bitch rubbing off on my band_.'

"—_Hot Hot Heat_!"

Letting out a sigh of relief Kyle climbed down the stairs, to be stopped by a sympathetic looking principle.

"I'm sorry about you not winning, Kyle, it must be torture to see your ex with Christophe."

He shrugged her hand off, offering a smile. "No, it'll only be torture if she makes a move on him and he doesn't reject her."

On the floor Christophe had to contain himself as Alice clung, an arm around his neck, the other slowly closing in on his rear. As the two couples swayed to a love song covered by the band he'd never heard before, Stan shot him a look of complete pity. Behind Alice's back he flicked the Marsh boy off, receiving a hearty laugh.

Her blue, blue eyes swathed in white make-up unsettled him. "You know, Kyle doesn't deserve you. Why hang around with him when there's so many other boys—and girls—out there?"

Christophe stiffened, trying to keep a calm resolve. What right did this bitch have to belittle Kyle? "I like 'im just fine, and 'e's certainly irreplaceable."

"Nah, you just haven't talked to the right person, got to know them. Give me a try, Christophe, I can be worth your while."

His hands tightened around her in anger, until he realized it was only confirming some suspicion she had and released her, barely touching. '_Easy Christophe, et's not worth ze fight._'

"If I wanted an STD, zen I'd fuck Kenneth, not you, 'e is ze prettier blonde out of you two."

She only smiled at the insult, baffling him more, and raising the insecurity levels. Leaning in she placed her lips over his pulse and bit gently, tongue creating a line of wetness. He shuddered as the rage snaked through him, hands immediately going to her shoulders and shook her violently, some habit he'd formulated over the years.

"What ze fuck do you zink you are doing, you sonuvabeetch floozy? Take ze 'int already, I don't like you and I never will! I'm quite 'appy wiz Kyle, so keep you're fucking 'ands off of me or I'll be forced to smash your goddamned face in! 'ell, why don't I just rip your fucking ovaries out so no more little Gardner beetches are running around? 'ow would you like zat, you slut!"

At his outburst everyone stopped to stare, including the members of _Hot Hot Heat_. Shoving her away she stumbled in the heels and went down hard, tears streaming down her face in hate and terror. He walked away, and a slow clap started until everyone was applauding him. Kyle met him at the stairs, a little shaken at the distraught look the brunette wore. Ignoring it he grabbed Christophe's hand, leading him to the bathroom.

"Come on, you've got lipstick covering your neck, better clean it up before it gets on the white shirt."

Christophe grumbled the whole way, fist clenching and unclenching. Annoyed Kyle finally grabbed his hands, giving him a look as they entered the bathroom. The brunette sat ungracefully on the counter as Kyle unbuttoned the top few of his shirt and pushed it, along with the blazer, off of his shoulder. He tilted his head to the side as the Jew wet a towel and scrubbed at the ruby-stained skin.

"You really put Alice in her place, that was…commendable."

At the mention he reached up, ready to throw the crown at a wall until Kyle stopped him. With a heaved sigh Christophe slapped it on the Jew's head, lacing it in his auburn curls.

"She overstepped 'er bounds," he snarled softly, still feeling Alice's tongue…shudder!

"Yes, she surely did, _I'm_ the only one that gets to do that to you," Kyle responded, observing his work. For the most part the lipstick was gone, but now the skin was rubbed raw. Exhaling sharply he straightened Christophe's shirt, left with the task of hiding the red mark. That's when he heard the distinctive giggle from one of the stalls.

"Kenny, what the Hell are you doing?" he asked, scanning the stalls in the mirror, finding the last one occupied by Kenny's tan slacks and bright orange converse.

"You don't even wanna know, Broflovski."

"Most likely not," he muttered, spotting a second pair of feet. "Oh my God, don't tell me Butters is in there with you."

"Okay, I won't."

Shuddering in disgust he ran a hand through Christophe's hair, finding it indeed down-soft, trying to straighten it to fall across the mark. As sexual noises flowed from the stall—although he knew Kenny was faking—he groaned and grabbed Christophe's hand.

"Let's find somewhere else."

"Kyle, dude, you can go anywhere and you'll get the same results. How many people do you actually think will be virgins after this night?" Kenny asked.

"Don't care, leaving now."

They wandered around the club, talking as Christophe slowly calmed down, although being congratulated for his outburst wasn't helping any. By eleven he was as pleasant as he had ever been, where they sat on the stairs, Christophe two lower than Kyle, leaning with his back against the banister. It was then a second guest band was introduced—_Incubus_. All of the students except them, and those engaging themselves in the bathrooms or in the dark side of the garden rushed to the dance floor as they began to play "Steller".

"It's a lovely song," Kyle said, eyes drifting close as the music played around them. Completely unaware of his surroundings he was startled to feel Christophe move to sit behind him, arms thrown around his neck, whispering the lyrics in the sexual French purr of his.

"_Meet me in outer space. We could spend ze night, watch ze Earth come up. I've grown tired of zat place, won't you come wiz me? We could start again._" Kyle shuddered, licking his lips; he knew the lyrics already by heart, but it seemed almost alien being whispered to him.

"'_ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do. 'ow do you do et? Et's better zen I ever knew._" He felt a tingle of satisfaction at knowing that; although they were lyrics, it seemed so personal.

"_Meet me in outer space. I will 'old you close, if you're afraid of 'eights. I need you to see zis place, et might be ze only way zat I can show you 'ow, et feels to be inside of you_." Kyle blushed, hands subconsciously going to rest on Christophe's, almost out of security reasons.

"'_ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do. 'ow do you do et? Et's better zen I ever knew. 'ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do. You are steller._" Kyle held his breath, waiting. "_'ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do. 'ow do you do et? Et's better zen I ever knew. 'ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do. 'ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do._"

Feeling Christophe unwrap himself, he looked up, about to respond until any complaints were smothered by the French boy's lips against his own. Drawing back the brunette held out a hand with a smile.

"Let's dance."

---

The following three days of school were dedicated to senior finals before they were out of school, two weeks earlier then the other classes. Although, in truth it was only a week, as the week after finals started graduation practice from eight in the morning until noon each day. That Friday they were subjected to nearly two hours of roll call in green robes trimmed in white and gold. After they were all handed diplomas Valedictorian was to give a speech. Kyle made it short and simple, unlike Ms. Titi's thirty minutes long one about how they were all like "buckets and shovels". It basically summed up their schooling together—since most of the class had been together since kindergarten—ending with a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt, "The future belongs to those who believe in the power of their dreams."

Just like that they were throwing their hats up, schooling career officially over, except to those going further in their life. Like that they were released into society to reek havoc, and taunt the younger classes with the fact they got out a week earlier, May twentieth. Against the summer rules of "sleep in until two, sit around in underwear, don't do anything productive until night" Kyle was up and ready, slaving over college papers. Sheila had made it quite clear he was to get ready for college after hearing he had been accepted into Colorado State _before_ having fun.

And Christophe was forced to join him.

Kyle eyed the brunette, sprawled across his bed, not paying attention to what he rambled off about apartments, seeming rather asleep. Rolling his eyes he got up from the desk and cross to the bed, a smug smile tracing his lips before he ran his fingertips feather-light under Christophe's shirt, across the skin, causing him to bolt upright and smack his head on Kyle's. They both moaned in pain, rubbing their foreheads, each with identical bruises forming.

"What ze Hell was zat for?" the brunette asked, throwing him a baleful look.

"Pay attention and that won't happen!" Kyle snapped, sighing.

"Well, what were we doing?"

"Applying for campus housing!" Christophe had also been accepted to the university, although he thought the education was a waste. To him it was a government conspiracy, conditioning society to believe education after high school was really needed, so more money would do to them in the long run. It did make a shred of sense, but knowing the French boy, it was a theory created out of paranoia. Though the main reason he had rejected the thought of college was the fact he already had a "business", and a well paying one at that. What he did couldn't be taught in classrooms and read out of books, it took instinct and personal experience.

"Right, right, find anyzing of use yet?"

Rolling up the booklet Kyle smacked the brunette in the head, glaring. "I've been spouting off shit I like for _half an hour_!"

Rubbing the spot he was hit Christophe shrugged. "So zat's why your voice kept interrupting my sleep." Before he could be hit again, he grabbed Kyle's wrist, shaking his head. One would think the Jew would have learned not to try that. Settling himself comfortably he pushed Kyle down next to him, unrolled the booklet and pointed forcefully at it. "Show me."

The redhead flipped through the pages, pointing out a few choice apartments, scratching out the ones Christophe gave a look of disgust. They were all so expensive, for something with a bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom, and laundry space. Even though they'd be in a college town, where prices were gouged, he couldn't help but feel it was a ridiculous waste. Seemingly reading his thoughts Kyle closed the book and sat up.

"Hey, if you don't want to do this then I'll go over to Stan's and we'll room together."

Christophe looked up at the redhead. He didn't show any outward emotion of possible hurt, but he knew better. Kyle had run around for the passed two days of summer break, ranting about how perfect it would be living together. He was neat and clean, anal about organization, and a hard worker, while Christophe could cook and drive a lot better.

"_Non cher_, let's finish looking."

Half an hour later they'd gone through the catalogue twice, with three apartments picked out to try. With the Hellacious job finished, Christophe decided to shove the real reason he'd let the Jew get him up before nine into the open.

"Your birzday is zis Zursday, May twenty-sixz, yes?"

Kyle blinked, startled, and gave a nod. "Yeah, guess so. Been so busy lately I just forgot about it."

"Mm, yes, zat is why I'm taking you out for ze day," he said, sitting up, receiving a questioning look. "Ze birzday party will be held a little later zen your actual birzday, since ze gift comes a bit later."

"What, did you preorder it and it's not going to arrive until after the twenty-sixth?" Kyle asked, laughing.

"_Non_, you'll understand later zough. So, are you willing to spend a w'ole day wiz me for your birzday?"

In response Kyle crawled onto Christophe's lap, arms around his neck affectionately. As the brunette leaned forward Ike burst into the room, startling them both. The raven-haired Canadian just gave them a weird look before sticking his tongue out in disgust.

"Ew, cooties!"

"What do you want, Ike?" Kyle asked in annoyance, face aflame.

"Oh, lunch is ready if you guys want to eat…but I'm sure what you hunger for isn't solid food, yadda yadda, insert a few more romance quotes if you want." He walked out, mumbling things under his breath as if they were actually listening.

Turning Kyle back to face him Christophe cocked a brow. "Why don't we ever lock that door?"

"You broke it last year, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Grabbing the sharpie they had been writing with previously he stuck it in the Jew's hands. "Go jam ze door, zen. We don't need anymore disturbances."

---

Thursday morning Christophe was off to the Broflovski resistance, confident of his gift, or rather, lack of. He knew that nothing could beat what he had planned for the real gift, and decided he'd give Kyle the best day of his life, without being materialistic. It was the thought behind the present, right?

Pulling up in front of the house he got out and went to knock. Sheila had insisted half way through the year he didn't need to knock, but he found that extremely rude and made sure his presence was known anyway. Plus, it was always fun to miff the woman.

She answered a few seconds after he knocked, a bright smile on her face. "Christophe, it's good to see you! Would you like to come in?"

"_Non_, zat is quite alright. Is Kyle 'ere?"

"No, he isn't," she said, pursing her lips. "He said he'd call you and tell you he was out. Hmm, must have slipped Booby's mind. Anyway, I'm getting off track, he left with a blonde haired boy I'd never seen, with curls and a British accent. What was his name again?"

"Gregory" he muttered darkly, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Oh yes! Gregory, that was it. Do you know him?"

Ignoring her question he asked, "Did he go willingly? No kicking and screaming, guns to ze 'ead?"

"Heavens no! My little Kyle seemed very willing to me. Is there something wrong?"

Faking a smile he replied, "_Non_, of course not, et just seems Gregory didn't follow ze birzday joke. Well et was good talking to you, I'd better to find zem."

"Have…fun?" she offered, shaking her head and returning inside muttering, "What a strange boy."

Returning to his car Christophe slammed his hands on the steering wheel, growling. What the Hell did Gregory think he was doing, kidnapping Kyle? They hadn't been on speaking terms since Halloween; it was always clipped conversations in the midst of intense rage. What was he trying to accomplish with such an act?

Turning the ignition he pulled away, mumbling curses to himself. He had no idea where to even start looking for them; Gregory wasn't bold enough to drive two hours from his house to Kyle's just to steal him away. And not being on his computer, there was no way to track his cell phone, something that Gregory had on him at all times—and that he'd planted a device into. So he did the only sensible thing he knew, he dialed the lead operative in the central Florida region. On the second ring a curt female voice answered, flavoured with an accent he couldn't place.

"I thought after nearly having your guts spilled by my best friend, you wouldn't be trying to get in contact again, Mole."

He took a breath to try and seem less in an almost panic, and instead sounded aggravated beyond reason. "Little Bo Peep, I've lost one of your sheep, and I really need to find ze little fucker so I can take 'im to the slaughter 'ouse and make lamb chops."

An amused laugh filled the receiver, something almost nasty that hinted at what true torture was. Her laugh was one of a kind, and scary as all of Hell. "I should charge you for my service, I'm a busy girl."

Turning onto Lido Avenue he smirked. "Busy? Oh, yes, sitting around wiz your zumb up your ass is being very busy. Playing ze leader is productive, isn't et? Letting ze people you pay do everyzing, after all, zat's what zey're zere for, yes?"

Instead of being insulted, the voice seemed genuinely concerned. "Dude, what the Hell is wrong with you? You sound like shit."

"Vulpine, I 'ate 'ow you can pick up on sheet over ze phone," he said, unsettled as he neared his home.

"You never have been snappy with me, something is wrong."

Parking in his driveway he sighed, realizing the usual twenty minutes of driving time had been cut down by more than half. Amazed he hadn't gotten a ticket he got out, itching for a cigarette, but knowing Kyle would kick his ass if he smelled the tobacco, he resisted. "Just track down Gregory's phone and I'll let you in on everyzing afterwards."

"You're home, do it yourself."

He didn't even question how she knew where he was; his phone was probably rigged with the same technology Gregory's was, or she'd hacked the _Verizon_ mainframe. "I'm 'ere to pick a few things up, I'm not staying long enough to track ze British piece of shit."

"Don't leave until I call you back." As the dial tone erupted from the phone he closed it, jamming it in his pocket and walked toward the door, finding it locked. Snarling he unlocked it and climbed the stairs, going straight for the entrance to the attic in his closet. Pushing it open he made his way up to the peek of the house, where a cache of weapons were stored. He stopped short on grabbing the safe box he kept small handguns and ammo as mews rose softly from the other end of the walk-boards. Turning to a pile of sweaters Arianne had forced upon him he spotted his cat, Kit-_chat-chat_, curled in the mass, but she wasn't the one mewing. From within the wool came the cries of kittens, and he cursed, regretting it a moment later as six kittens stumbled out from the sweaters.

"You 'ad to pick a time of crisis to birz kittens, didn't you, Kit?" he asked with a heaved sigh, leaving his weapons to make sure the cats were fine. Noticing the chill in the attic he realized he had to get them into the heat of the house if they were to survive. The choice was obvious, but Kyle nagged at his mind, those brilliant green eyes smiling, as he gathered the palm-sized kittens into a sweater and took them down into his room, screaming. Their mother followed him down, keeping a watchful eye on her owner as he quickly made a makeshift bed for the kittens using his sheets. Leaving them to the comfortable warmth he returned to the attic and opened the lock without even looking. He took out a few of the guns, looking them over like a judge to a modeling contest, finally taking the _Taurus PT 100_ Kyle had thought was more "him" and slipped a clip in. Might as well use it in action, maybe the redhead would be impressed.

Chuckling at the thought he took a _Firestar_ and crammed it into his left pocket, the Taurus being holstered in the small of his back. He'd heard several women friends complain about that positioning because it ground against the skin, causing it to break and bleed, all because of well-defined hips.

Resisting the urge to grab something highly illegal, like the high-powered mini-_Uzi_ he had in times of sheer compensation, he climbed from the attic, covering the entrance and went straight to the garage. He was sure Kit-_chat-chat_ was a good mother, and if need be, would lead the kittens to water and soft food. Opening the large door with a button he climbed onto his motorcycle, about to put on the helmet when his phone vibrated.

"I was wondering when you'd get done, Jesus, what took forever?" Vulpine asked irritably before he could say anything.

"Tell you later. Where is ze sonuvabeetch?"

"On the edge of town, but I ain't givin' you a name until you tell me everything." He filled her in on is life in five minutes, feet tapping the concrete impatiently as she sat silent, listening. When he finally growled he was done she let out a long whistle. "Heh, always knew you strayed from the straight and narrow. It's a shame, really, you could have some drop-dead gorgeous kids."

"You're off topic," he hissed. "Where is Gregory?"

"A place called _Carl's Warehouse_, good luck."

---

As he sped toward the warehouse he knew oh-so well, he silently applauded himself for leaving off the custom muffler job that would make his _Harley Davidson_ roar. He slipped easily in and out of traffic, ignoring all signals and signs, intent on murdering Gregory. His mind raced with possible death ideas, setting the situation up into a hundred different scenarios, dialogue almost never changing. It was a skill needed for psychological damage, or as the government put it, "democracy".

Skidding to a silent halt behind _Carl's Warehouse_ he got off the bike, drawing the _Taurus_ and walked toward the back door, the gun a weight itching in his gloved hand. Unconsciously he clicked the safety off and drew back the hammer, a sadistic smile forming on his lips. He knew the place inside and out, every flook, flaw, the construction, exactly where rafters were placed; Hell, he knew how many nails had been use to built it. So it wasn't surprising that he stopped short, glancing through a small hole eroded in the bricks, that was only visible from the outside. Gregory and Kyle were approximately twenty feet from the back entrance, facing away from it. Perfect, the Brit was expecting access from the front.

A few feet from the door, he lifted the gun and stared down the barrel, trained on the large iron lock he knew to be pretty worthless. Tilting the gun slightly so the boys inside weren't caught in the crossfire—he wanted to see Gregory _beg_ in mercy, not go down with an idle shot—he pulled the trigger, the silencer doing nothing to hide the sound of the lock exploding, or the wooden door splinter around it. Hurriedly he ran around the corner of the building, gun trained to the sky, and waited.

The door opened, Gregory walking out into the open, looking around with a scowl on his face until he spotted the familiar motorbike. It was about that time he heard the hammer of a gun being pulled back and stiffened as a rolling laugh sounded from his right. Turning his head he watched Christophe stride toward him, staring down the scope at him, _Taurus_ pointed at his head.

"Well, well, look at what I've found. Lace your 'ands on your 'ead, asshole."

Gregory obediently did what he was told, knowing that cold, twisted look in Christophe's eyes meant someone would get hurt, and it would be him.

Circling the blonde he used his free hand to point inside. "Walk. Stay in a straight path, I want you wiz your back up against ze farthest wall. You've got ten seconds to get zere or I'm blowing a 'ole in your fucking 'ead."

Not bothering to argue he steadily walked across the room, ignoring Kyle's wide-eyed look at seeing the passive blonde. He turned a foot away from the wall, and leaned against it, hands remaining in his curls.

"Well, Christophe, it's nice to see you, even in such a predicament."

Paying no heed to Gregory the brunette turned to face the Jew, letting his arm drop. After all, there was only so much glucose the muscles could take building up before it became a constant ache.

"Are you alright, _cher_?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Kyle asked skeptically, nervously eyeing the gun.

"Because zis piece of sheet kidnapped you."

"_Au contraire_ I did no such thing," Gregory said tartly with a sigh as Christophe's nasty look fell on him before returning to Kyle.

Lifting his free hand Christophe extended it to the redhead. "Come now, let us leave zis lunacy." Seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye he whipped the gun up, barely looking at his target before firing off a shot. Gregory fell to the floor on his rear, eyes wide in fright, still in the process of drawing his weapon. Luckily Christophe's arm had jerked to the left or he'd be a dead man. Looking up the barrel of the gun he knew he might be anyway, and that terrified him. He'd been in the same position before, with the same fierce boy holding the firearm, but Christophe had _never_ shot at him before, no matter how angry or silly as he was acting. The French boy was serious when he hinted at his death.

"Next time I won't miss," Christophe snarled softly, letting his arm fall to his side. "Now why did you take Kyle?"

"It—it was a test," Gregory stammered.

"'ow _brilliant_ of ze Yardale attendee, fucking wiz someone zat wants to 'umbly see you die."

"I was worried of where you stood in your ethics, Christophe, with emotion clouding your judgement. I had to know how you would react, if you were _good enough_. There's plenty of people out there that would love to see you dead, and knowing you've got a dedicated boyfriend, they'd get you through him."

Snorting he laughed, though it wasn't kind. "Where did I rank, teacher? I must say, I zink I got a 'B' at least, nearly scattering your brains across ze wall and everyzing."

"I don't think you understand, you've always been the teacher," Gregory said firmly, standing.

"Teacher says _don't fuck wiz me_!" Christophe growled, eyes narrowing.

"Are you just going to let Kyle be an open target?"

Rolling his eyes Christophe sighed heavily. "Oh, I don't believe zis, I know where zis is going. Well fuck you and your jealous rivalry. _Non_, I'm not going to break et off wiz Kyle to be wiz you, _non_, I don't like you, and _non_, I really don't apreeciate zis crap. Why can't any of you people just be 'appy for us, Christ!" A queer tinkle entering his eyes he grinned smugly, although it looked to be a touch insane. "Why don't I just blow ze information into your 'ead?"

Before Christophe's arm could even move Kyle had clung, prying the gun from the brunette's hand. His green eyes pleaded. "No Christophe, killing him will just make you feel a hellavu lot worse, even if it feels like instant victory now. You'll regret it, so please don't."

"But 'e kidnapped you, on your birzday of all days!"

Sighing he holstered the gun in the small of Christophe's back, lacing his fingers with the taller boy's. Luckily Gregory recognized the trusting act as Kyle placed his back to the blonde. "No, he didn't, I left quite willingly, even if there was some trickery involved. And he hasn't harmed me, actually he's treated me pretty well. It would just be rude to, you know, shoot him."

Looking passed the red curls his hard gaze settled on Gregory, understanding dawning on him. The blonde wasn't trying to ruin them, or even prove that he had gone "soft" as it was referred, he was actually concerned about Kyle's safety and even more so, Christophe's sanity.

Exhaling he gave an acknowledging nod and tugged on Kyle's hands. "Come on, we've still got stuff to do."

As Gregory watched them retreat, he couldn't help but wonder who was more terrifying, Christophe at his coldest, or in an emotional rampage from the heart.

---

The ride back was enough to calm Christophe's nerves, the slightly chilly May air slapping across his face as he turned corners at dangerous speeds, only to feel Kyle's arms grip tighter around his waist a squeal both in fright and delight from behind. It had come to an end a bit quicker than he'd hoped, but as Kyle got off the bike, threw the helmet onto the seat, and did a jig around the garage he couldn't help but feel al of the panic and adrenaline had been worth it. And when Kyle had stated his perfect day would be sitting around on Christophe's couch, watching _Donnie Darko_, singing along with theme songs, and otherwise cuddling he _knew_ it'd been worth it.

After the first viewing of the movie he remembered the kittens, a bright smile blossoming across his face, confusing the redhead. Blindfolding him Christophe had led him up the stairs, almost unsuccessfully, to his room where he threw off the blindfold. Kyle had giggled as he caught sight of the kittens and rushed over, giddy, immediately finding the runt of the litter and coddled it. When the brunette announced he could keep the cat Kyle just hugged him one-armed, as the tiny tabby kitten suckled on his fingertip.

For hours they'd played with the kittens, Kyle taking extreme care of his, who had been named Siena due to a red-orange stripe of fur down his back. When Noémie arrived back in the afternoon she'd took one look at the kittens and hauled them off tot he veterinarian for check-ups, promising she'd return with Siena, and a personalized collar for him.

Their main distractions gone, they chatted absently about Gregory, before falling back into bed, Christophe being properly thanked for his heroism.

And he learned the pains of having a holster in the small of his back, finally sympathizing with women across the globe.

---

Almost a week later the road trip commenced. Kyle had tearfully left Siena and Zypher—a second kitten he couldn't come to part with—in the care of Ike. Christophe felt a tinge of pity at taking the redhead from his newfound pet, but after the trouble he'd gone through to make the plans, there was no way he was canceling.

The drive would be a long one, nearly thirty-two hours, all the way to the East coast, more specifically the North Carolina shores. Kyle was still surprisingly in the dark about why they weren't going somewhere a bit more prestigious, but he didn't seem to mind. The party would be taking two cars, Stan's and his own; there was no way they were going to try to fit nine people and luggage into the Pimp-Mobile. So it was decided they'd switch off who was with who in what car, although it was decided to start Stan, Wendy, Kenny, and Eric would be in the Sunfire, while Christophe, Kyle, Tweek, Craig, and Damien stayed in the Impala.

They left at four in the morning, on I-70 going through Denver, east. The only people awake were the drivers, and Damien, who phased in and out throughout the day, where he was going no one really knew, although they guessed he was visiting Hell. On I-35 heading toward Wichita, Kansas, he appeared, startling the roused Tweek enough to try and bail out the door. Luckily the locks could only be done from the drivers side door.

"I'm hungry," the anti-Christ complained, after the twitching blonde had been settled by Craig.

"Then go back to Hell and have lunch," Kyle said turning to face the pasty-pale son of Saetan.

"Father is an inadequate chef, Saddam was always the one to cook."

"Don't you have like, maids or something?" Craig asked.

"Demons of all varieties don't need to eat solid food, they consume nutrients in a metaphysical manner." Seeing the boy's blank stare he rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious. "That means 'no, we don't have maids to serve us, we have succubi'."

As they argued back and forth Kyle dialed Wendy's phone, looking in the rearview mirror at the disgustingly bright blue Sunfire Stan insisted "ruled the road", tailgating them. They decided up front that Christophe was navigator, as the Marsh boy managed to get himself lost on the roads of South Park; with all of America at his command, they had no idea how far off course they would get. As she picked up the phone she gave a little wave.

"Heya Kyle, what's up?"

"What do you guys want for lunch?"

"Hold on a sec, I'll ask the boys." Kyle muffled a laugh as Cartman's whiny squeals could be heard over the phone. A second later Wendy's exasperated voice filled the receiver. "Chili's sound good?"

"I'll check with my boys," he replied, covering the phone piece as he look at the three in the backseat, waiting. "Chili's?"

Craig gave a nod, the blonde curled against him grinning widely. "Yes! Oh, God, they have that really good chocolate cake, and that onion thing that looks like a flower! Yes, yes, yes!"

"It's acceptable," Damien answered. Turning to prod Christophe in the arm the redhead asked:

"Well?"

"Zey 'ave salads, yes?"

"A whole rainbow of them."

"Zen zat shall be fine. Do we 'ave any idea where zere is a Chili's?" Ignoring the question he replied in the phone that they were going to Chili's as soon as they found one. Hanging up Kyle took his laptop from the dash, bringing up a web browser and searched.

"There are four in Wichita, and considering where we're going the one in the eastside of town seems to be our best bet."

Half an hour of driving later they pulled into the restaurant parking lot, and another hour later, were kicked out. The anti-Christ managed to snort chocolate cake while laughing at some joke Eric had made, his agitation sensed by the Underworld. A team of Gulons had been sent to check on him, scaring half of the customers away without paying, the business losing several hundred dollars in the process. Of course they couldn't be charged with the disturbance, and instead an angry manager had banned them from ever returning.

On I-20 heading east toward Burmingham, Alabama, Christophe switched off from driving, letting the son of Lucifer take the wheel so he could sleep. However Damien was even worse of a navigator than Stan, turning off onto a freeway and getting them lost in the backwoods of Mississippi. They all decided to not tell the French boy their mistake after hours of sidetracking back to the Interstate road, Craig now driving. However when he awoke with the sun blaring, having not reached Atlanta, Georgia, he knew what had happened.

Several hours later after finally reaching their destination of Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina, and stocking up on snacks, they were finally checking into the hotel that had been booked half a year before, receiving key-cards and dragging their things up to the suite. It was more expensive then other suites, having an ocean-front view, three bedrooms, and being on the twelfth level, but it was worth it completely.

After unpacking their things they all tiredly called rooms and plopped into bed. The master bedroom contained a king-sized bed, left with Christophe, Kyle, Craig, and Tweek to find some way to all sleep together. The second largest room was left with Stan and Wendy in the queen-sized bed. The final room had two twin beds, that Kenny and Damien called, leaving Cartman to dominate the huge couch.

And that's how their vacation began.

---

Kyle stirred under the blankets, feeling the familiar warmth of Christophe pull away. Sitting up and rubbing at his eyes he reached out, grabbing for the brunette's wrist as he shook the tangles of sleep away. They'd found out easily that two couples in the same bed wasn't hard to work with, especially when two of he four were scrawny and otherwise small.

"Where are you going?" the redhead asked hoarsely, vocal cords beginning to loosen. Christophe put a finger to his lips and pointed behind him to the entwined figures of Craig and Tweek. It was somehow relaxing to see the blonde completely motionless in the depths of sleep, all twitching left for dreams of who knows what.

Getting out of bed carefully he fluffed his hair on the side he'd slept on and followed Christophe out onto the balcony of the bedroom, closing he glass door behind them. Leaning against the railing and peering through the black screen of the porch he's eyes lit as dawn broke across the ocean waves, delighting him. Kyle was instantly awake as pink met blue, melting to yellow, the foam of the water a startling white.

"Wo-ow!"

"Pretty, yes?" Christophe asked, draping an arm across the redhead's shoulders.

"Oh Hell yes! I've never seen the beach at dawn, it's…magnificent."

"You just like ze break of day, am I correct?" he mused, ruffling Kyle's soft curls. Sheepishly the Jew gave a nod, turning those childlike eyes on him.

"Dawn just starts a new day, promising something better than the day before, and I can already tell this," he waved his hands around him, "is a lot better than being cramped in your car having to piss really bad."

"You should 'ave said somezing and I would 'ave stopped."

"I said something like every five minutes, and _two hours_ later you stopped only because I was about to cry."

"Mm, yes, well I 'ate to see you cry," he said with a wicked grin before closing the distance between them, lips meeting softly at first; perhaps that would shut him up? From behind someone pounded on the glass of the door leading out form the second balcony in the living room. Turning they spotted Eric, sticking his tongue out in disgust, a sheet of paper pressed against the glass reading, "Spare me!" Placing Kyle in front of the window so Eric could see, they kissed again, making sure the tongue-action was quite visible. When they looked back Cartman was no where to be seen, and the curtains were shut.

Giggling Kyle led they back into the bedroom and out into the living room, closing the door behind they so the other two boys could sleep. Spotting them Cartman jabbed a finger down his throat, making gagging noises.

"You guys are so totally gay, it's not even funny anymore. I could have gone my whole life without having to see Jew-boy with his tongue down another dude's throat, thanks."

Plopping down on the couch Kyle snorted. "Well you should've known there would be stuff like that going on, it's the beach for Christ's sake, we'll be half-naked our entire time here."

"Like you could really go for five days half-naked in the summer sun, you'll burn to a fucking crisp," Cartman smirked. It was about that time Stan wandered in, rubbing at his untidy hair.

"Damnit lard-o, you woke me up."

"Ay! I don't need to take this crap from you. Screw you guys, Imma go get breakfast." With that he pointed at the door and stalked out. Kenny poked his head from the hallway, giving a quizzical look at the front door being closed.

"I hope he doesn't have his key-card with him," the blonde said with a grin, jumping over the couch to sit with the other three.

"Even if 'e did 'e probably doesn't remember what room we're in,' Christophe said to himself, inducing a giggle from Kyle.

"Morning you guys," the sleepy voice of Craig said as he stretched, Tweek following in a sluggish manner. At the smell of coffee he perked, rushing over to the machine and making a huge glass. They'd been told before hand the first person up had to make coffee or Tweek would go into hysterics, but it was surprising Eric actually listened.

"Morning," they said in unison, Damien's shrill voice added. They all glanced to the hall where he was sliding across the tile on his socks. Perching on the edge of the armrest he glanced around at them.

"So what are we doing today?"

"Shouldn't we wait until Wendy gets up?" Stan asked in defense of his sleeping girlfriend. Craig snorted.

"No, dude, she'll want to shop and sunbathe. Anyway, she _could_ use her beauty sleep, you know."

"Don't insult my girlfriend, buttpipe!" Stan shouted, eyes narrowing.

"Don't call me a buttpipe, buttpipe!"

"Stop arguing!" Tweek screeched, scorching coffee sloshing from the cup onto his hands, causing the shrieks to only escalate. Craig was immediately there, pulling the blonde toward the sink, running cold water over the burns. Wendy stepped out from the hall, rubbing at her eyes.

"What's going on?" Seeing the teary-eyed Tweek she clamped a hand over her mouth, concern written on her face. "Oh my God, what happened?" No one bothered to answer her, else she might feel bad for being the cause of the arguing. As an awkward silence filled with sniffling fell over them all Damien broke it.

"I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry!" Kenny complained, rolling his eyes. "I'm the poor one, I should be hungry all the time, not you."

As another bout of bickering commenced, so did their day.

---

The morning passed quickly as the group became comfortable with their setting and curfews. By mid afternoon they were found down by the beach, laying across towels, laughing at stupid jokes, or Craig trying to attempt surfing. He'd made it to a stand twice in three hours, otherwise the board would slip out from under him and he'd fall backwards, or take a nosedive into the foam. What was relatively amusing, though, was the fact on his second try Tweek had gotten to a stand and was now easily riding the waves with happy yelps.

Glancing around the beach Kyle spotted Wendy a few meters away on her stomach in a violet bikini decked in small yellow flowers, shades over her eyes on her cell phone, most likely chatting with Bebe or Rebecca about how beautiful the shore was. Neither of the other girls could come due to family plans, much to the Testaburger girl's disappointment, being trapped with eight males and no girls. But there was no room to complain, as she would have been sitting on her rear all summer if she hadn't been invited along.

Looking farther up the beach he surveyed the scene of a fierce volleyball match between his other friends. Eric and Kenny ran around after the hard knocks Damien would pummel them with, barely able to keep up. However they got their fair share of hits in, making to two raven-haired boys chase after the ball as well, diving into the white sand in feeble attempts to save the ball from hitting the ground.

That left one other person missing; Christophe. As soon as they'd gotten down to the shoreline he'd disappeared completely, much to Kyle's dismay. At first he though the brunette had been drug under water by the undertoe, or was playing some devious trick before remembering he hadn't even changed into swim gear, instead staying comfortably in board shorts and a _David Bowie_ shirt. For the past four hours he hadn't shown up, remaining safely away—somewhere.

With a heaved sigh he fell back onto the towel under a beach umbrella, hands beside his head and closed his eyes under the shades. Even with the highest level of sunblock slathered across his body, his pale skin couldn't take the heat; even Damien wasn't burned, and he wasn't even wearing sunblock! Then again, it could be some side effect of living in Hell.

Touching his skin and noticing it turned white at the slightest pressure he decided he'd had enough. Getting up as grabbed his shirt and flip-flops before trying to get Wendy's attention. When she pulled her sunglasses off he pointed at himself then toward the hotel. Seeming to understand she waved as he walked off passed the volleyball match.

"Hey, where're you going Kyle?" Stan's voice called, making him stop.

"It's too hot, look at me."

Cartman snickered at his rosy-read skin. "I told you you'd burn, Jew-boy."

"I know, I should've listened. I might be out later, depends."

"Later dude," they all said in unison before beginning to smash the white ball back and forth. He hurried across the hot sand, up the hotter board walk, across the scorching pavement around the pool, and finally made it to the parking area where his feet were met with cool asphalt. Walking passed a group of kids running toward the pool he strode to where the elevator as, the only one waiting. Hitting the button he watched it flare to life as the elevator slowly went down the floors. When the doors opened he took a step forward and stopped, gawking. Christophe sat up against one wall, surprise written across his face. Shaking his head Kyle walked into the elevator before the doors closed.

"What the Hell are you doing here?"

"Riding ze elevator, duh."

"For how long?" Kyle asked, rolling his eyes as he spotted a _Rice Crispy Treat_ in the brunette's hands.

"For about, eh, two and a 'alf 'ours."

Giving his boyfriend a look he sighed. "You've got to be kidding. Why are you here and not on the beach, swimming?" Not receiving a reply his mouth fell open in understanding. "You can't swim, can you?"

"I can swim perfectly fine, zanks!" Christophe snapped defensively. "Ze salt in ze ocean and chlorine in ze ppol just _irritates_ my eyes is all."

As the elevator came to a stop and opened he grabbed Christophe by the collar of his shirt, pulling him toward their room. He searched for his key-card, realizing with a curse he'd left it on the beach. The French boy offered his, opening the door with a lopsided grin. As the door closed behind them Kyle threw his things into the bedroom and confronted Christophe, placing his hands on either side of the brunette's shoulders on the sliding glass door.

"You can't swim, can you?" he persisted.

Searching Kyle's face and finding determination he buckled. "_Non_."

"Then why are we at a beach?"

"There are ozer zings to do 'ere zen swim, _cher_."

"Like?"

Christophe smirked; Kyle could be dense sometimes. "Well zere are tourist attractions, shopping, you can always just walk up and down ze beach, fish I'm sure, go put-putting, laser tag, go-carts…" he trailed off, seeing if the redhead got the hint there were plenty of things to do. "But besides all of zat? Zis," he pushed Kyle back gently before switching their positions, the Jew now the own against the door. Leaning down he captured him in a kiss, muttering against his cherry-tasting lips, "Or zis." A hand tilting Kyle's head to the side he leaned farther, nibbling against the vein in his neck. "Or zis," he mumbled, a hand trailing down the redhead's stomach to rest playfully on his waist, toying with the hem of his swimtrunks. Lowering himself Christophe licked a fine line down Kyle's red skin, stopping just below his naval, looking up at those heated green eyes. "Or—"

"Aw, awww! Sick, dude they were—just—I'm not hungry anymore," Eric's voice sounded from behind them. Turning to face the hall he spotted the others, Craig and Tweek giving him an approving look. With a sigh he stood and led the horrified Kyle away from Cartman's ridicule, pleased that he could still make the Broflovski boy blush the way he did.

Or maybe that was the sunburn.

---

Kyle was shaken awake, groaning, pulling the covers tighter around his body to ward away the persistent hands. In response to this they were ripped away from him, leaving the redhead exposed in his four-leaf clover boxers. Muttering harshly he sat up, looking around for the culprit, finding Christophe standing at the end of the bed fully dressed in cargo pants and a black shirt with "sTaInEd AwAy" written on it in a thin white font. His eyes were done up in eyeliner, something he knew either Kenny or Wendy did at first glance.

"Why are you dressed? And up?" Looking beside him he noticed Craig and Tweek weren't there.

"Because et's almost nine in ze morning, everyone is already up and ready."

Falling back into bed Kyle moaned, muffling his curses in his pillow. "Go away! I want to sleep!"

"Fine, you don't get your present," the French accent pouted firmly. Sitting back up Kyle gave him a look.

"You already got me a present, the two kittens at home, remember?"

Christophe snorted, rolling his eyes as he wandered around the bed to sit beside Kyle. "Et wasn't planned Kit-_chat-chat_ would get pregnant, zat wasn't your real gift." From his back pocket he produced two thin strips of paper that the Jew recognized as tickets. "Zese are. I'm taking you to a concert."

"What kind of concert?" he asked slowly, fearing for his taste in music.

"Well you told your cousin zat ze lead singer is 'otter zen me, which let me tell you I did not appreciate 'earing," he replied smugly, waving the tickets in front of Kyle's nose. Reaching out he took them in amazement, as if they were the most fragile things ever. Reading the label over he took a breath before squealing and launched himself at Christophe.

"Omighoshomigoshomigosh!"

"Take a breath, let it out; breathe!" Christophe insisted, prying to pry Kyle off to no avail. The redhead clung, though made sure the tickets were safe.

"I'm sorry for calling Jay hotter than you, you're the best boyfriend ever! Ever, ever, ever!" Pulling away he stared at the tickets in awe. "I can't believe I'm going to see _Orgy_! This is like, the best freakin' day _ever_! Are the other guys coming along?"

"Damien, Craig, and Tweek are, ze ozers didn't want to."

"Whoo, the anti-Christ at an electronica/rock concert, sweet!" Getting up he ran around the room, staring into the part of the dresser called 'his', sorting through his clothing for something concert appropriate. Finally he grabbed a pair of black jeans with lime hemming, a fishnet shirt he'd found packed for him, and a deep green shirt with a yin-yang sign on the front. Fluffing his hair he gave a nod and threw on a pair of Vans before dragging the French boy out into the living area to have the same make-up treatment done with his eyes. Like he'd guessed it was Kenny that applied the eyeliner and eyeshadow.

As soon as the blonde was finished Kyle danced toward the door chanting, "Mashing, mashing, mashing, whoo!" The boys going followed the giddy redhead to the elevator, destination, absolutely Hell.

---

The concert goers woke up the next day nearly at one in the afternoon, groaning at the aching soreness of their muscles. Each and every one of them had sustained some sort of trademark injury, usually in the form of a large green-tinted bruise, although Tweek's was different. He'd been smacked in the stomach with a studded bracelet, leaving three puncture marks in the tender flesh that had been deep enough to bleed. At that injury they had all decided mashing wasn't worth it and pushed their way to the edge of the pits, relatively out of harm's way.

As Kyle wandered out of the bedroom he glanced at the mirror in the bathroom, wincing. His eye was surrounded in all the colours of the bruise-rainbow, and swollen. Ironically he'd been elbowed by a guy trying to help him out of the most violent mashing pits that had erupted around them. As soon as he sat down on the couch beside Christophe (who was, like always, the first up of their group), Tweek's high-pitched scream broke the silence.

"NO! We're out of coffee, oh God, how am I going to live? Without the coffee I have no will to go on!" Before he could throw himself out the kitchen window Craig darted out of the bedroom, tackling him hard to the tile floor, their bodies sliding a few inches to hit the glass. Tweek's short fingernails scrambled on the glass, trying to get a hold on it as Craig kept him pinned down.

"Lemme go! There's no God—"

"I could've told you zat," Christophe muttered, watching the two boys struggle on the kitchen floor.

"—he's taken the most important substance away! Oh, Christ, lemme go Craig! I wanna go out the painful way!"

"No way dude! I'm not having your death on my conscious."

"I can't live through withdrawals, lemme go!" Tweek wailed, kicking under the heavier boy.

"Infidels! Take the elevator to the second level, turn right form the evil reign of the receptionist, and there is a corner ruled by that of coffee beans!" Damien's strong, prophetic voice boomed. Having heard the word 'coffee' Tweek sprang to his feet, throwing Craig off and ran out the door. Craig jumped up, following, not trusting the twitching boy alone.

As Damien plopped down on the couch Kyle let out a whistle. "Haven't heard you speak like that in forever, why the sudden change?"

"If he thinks he's about to be punished by the anti-Christ, then there is no reason to worry about suicide," the raven-haired boy said with a shrug. "And it's fun to appear at the weirdest times and spout shit like that."

It wasn't five minutes later the two that had left returned, Tweek carrying a bag of _Starbucks _coffee and two refrigerated _Frappachino_ drinks, Craig with another three. As the blonde plopped the bag next to the coffeepot Craig passed out the cold drinks.

"So where'd the others go, Frenchy?" he finally said after settling into the cushions of the plush couch. They all knew if they wanted information to go to Christophe, he knew _everything_.

"Out shopping, Wendy assured if zey saw anyzing we might like, she'd buy et _non_ prob."

"Well what're we supposed to do?" Tweek asked with a squeal. The reply was a lazy smile before:

"Ever hung out in an elevator?"

---

The rest of that day was spent down by the beach until ten when the pool area was curfewed, meaning their only way back into the hotel. Until two in the morning they played video games, _Twister_, _Dance Dance Revolution_ on a dance pad Wendy brought along, and a violent game of Truth or Dare influenced by alcohol. To say the least it was a game of much boob-bearing, homoerotic acts, and blushing. By the end they'd all taken a sacred oath to keep what they did that night confidential.

The forth day of their vacation was spent at _Spinsations_, goofing around with people half their age. In a putput game Eric had been the winner, flaunting until they went go-carting, and was run into walls by the others. Having learned his lesson he kept his mouth shut, glaring at them all as they created a team for laser tag against a group of junior-high students. Not surprisingly Christophe was the sole winner, waiting until everyone on his team got knocked off before going after the kids. It was then they realized who he really was.

The final day of their trip they decided to go out to one of the islands off the coast with a guide. Reminding Christophe that is he fell in he was dead, the French boy had just smirked and said, "If you don't come in after, zen zere would be no reason to live anyway."

Kenny rode on the bow the whole way across the crystal blue ocean, arms outstretched to the sky like a decoration, hair being tousled in the salty winds. It was there at his most vulnerable, his most innocent (having been making crude jokes at Wendy about her 'big bodacious boobs' for the passed four days), they noticed the faint crown of light whizzing above his head and the outline of large feathered wings. They'd all recognized his dying habit early on—how could they not?—and the fact he'd been to Hell and back, along with Heaven a few things. But they never actually believed he might serve a purpose in those deaths, or on Earth until then. Who exactly was he sent to guard?

They arrived on the island just after noon, and wandered away from the guide. Its distinctive feature was a huge dune of white sand built up down the 'spine', eroding away before reaching the light tower. They were let on free reign before being told that if he needed yhem, the guide would call on a conch.

So as the others trotted away playing a morbid game of tag—you'd take a fish egg sac from the water and throw it at the others if you were It, if you got hit you were It and so on—Kyle grabbed Christophe's hand and walked down to the water before starting for the opposite end of the island.

"This place is so beautiful, I mean I'm use to snow and hick accents, so it's amazing to see what the world has to offer outside of South Park," Kyle said, watching the water foam around their feet.

"Yes, et is simple stunning," he replied, giving Kyle's hand a squeeze, the ID bracelet the redhead had given his for Christmas jingling.

"Thanks for enduring the concert for me, I could tell you didn't like it very much."

"Well, love knows _non_ bounds, yes?"

"Mm," smiling he looked up at the sky, the clouds swirling, tinged in pastel yellow. "Just, thanks for everything. There's so many things I'm thankful for that you've done since this how fiasco started. I mean you've risked o much several times and—"

"You're not breaking up wiz me, are you?" Christophe asked, stopping him dead. The concern was bright in his chocolate eyes, the breeze ruffling bangs into them.

"What? No, God no!" He brought a hand to his mouth, giggling. "I couldn't _ever_ break up with you, I love you way too much, dude. I guess I just realized how much I never say it and—"

"You don't 'ave to say et, zough, _cher_. What you don't realize is you show et every day in ze simplest actions, like now, you're blushing."

"Am not!" Kyle said heatedly, though he felt his cheeks colour and knew the fecade. Christophe smiled smugly, a knowing smile, making the redhead glad that Stan chose that moment to appear on the dune, waving his hands madly.

"Dudes! Come here, I've found the coolest thing ever!"

Stepping around the brunette he raised his hands to his mouth calling back, "What is it?"

"You've got to come see! Get your lazy asses over here!"

With a sigh Kyle glanced at Christophe before starting up the dune, slipping several times on the fine sand and going down face first. Rolling his eyes in disbelief the French one showed Kyle the proper way to get up a hill of sand, by walking on the arch of the foot, weight in the balls. After a few tries he got it and was at the top in no time. Then the fun part began; sliding down the other side to the figures of Stan, Kenny, and Wendy crowded around in a circle.

"What is it?" Kyle asked a bit annoyed as Stan looked up with a huge grin.

"Check this out," he said, pointing at the ground. In front of him was what appeared to be a slug, but the size of a toothpaste tube, the sand around it stained purple.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Some weird beach slug, but that's not the best part," Kenny said and poked the thing. Purple squirted out from the underside, the stain becoming larger.

"So it squirts crap, how is that good?" Kyle asked with a brow raised.

"It means we can write stuff in the sand, duh!" Stan replied as if it was obvious. Picking up the slug he walked to were the dune started at wrote in big letters 'S & W' before drawing a heart around it. Wendy giggled as the other boys ran over to them, Craig glancing at the purple message before stealing the slug and doing the same, but with 'C & T'. Instantly the dune became home to initials and hearts as 'K & C', 'D & P', 'C & B', 'K & B' were added. It was about that time the guide appeared, eyes widening.

"Dudes! I can't believe you touched the slug! Put it down."

Kenny dropped it, hands now a healthy shade of purple. "Why, what's wrong?"

"Your hands, look at them!" Everyone that had touched the slug looked down at their now purple hands. "That ink _stains_ dudes, they're gonna be like the for like, three months. They could still be tinted purple for at least two years."

At the news no one really seemed too upset that the palms of their hands would be a strange colour for a forth of the year, maybe even longer. Instead it started a war of trying to pin Cartman down and write on his forehead 'loser'. In the end, he wasn't the only one written on in slug goo.

---

After that trip the group didn't see much of each other. Most of them were too busy being hassled by college papers and summer jobs to get together. Finally feeling the prospect of real-life and reality, they were boggled, clinging to their family in their last month in South Park, or even the state. Life really wasn't handed to them on a silver platter it seemed.

Kyle on the other hand was restricted from having a summer job, Sheila worried that driving to and from work everyday would cause recklessness and he'd die. Also having accepted his relationship she was needlessly worrying that a job would intervene and cause too much stress, that they'd drive each other apart. When Christophe had heard it, he was fairly amused.

However, there was one day they all got together, that even workspaces couldn't intervene: July forth.

The fireworks were going to be shot off at Stark's Pond like they were every year. That wasn't where the group was though, they were all up on the cliff overlooking South Park, bottles of alcohol surrounding them. By the time it was getting dark at eight they were pretty smashed.; after all, there's no other ay to be patriotic then getting drunk and blowing things up.

"Here's to never seeing you assholes again," Cartman said raising a bottle of _Heineken_. The others followed suit before tipping their drinks back.

"It's not like we've ever liked you," Butters slurred, hair being ruffled by a giggling Kenny.

"I've been the king of this place, what're you talkin' about?" Eric asked with fake intimidation, though swaying back and forth didn't help matters.

"Shut up you dickholes!" Wendy shouted, clamping her hand over her mouth at the outburst before laughing. "The fireworks are starting."

The teens turned to the sky as lights exploded, brighter in the mountain air than it could ever be in the city. As technicolour swirls and waterfall effects danced across the sky the group let out a collective sigh.

"Everything is happening too fast," Stan finally said, answering their thoughts.

"Yeah, this time last year I'd be at home with the girls watching the fireworks from my backyard," Bebe said a bit sadly before taking a swig of her drink.

"I'd be hiding from the loud noises," Tweek piped up, amazingly relaxed , but then again he'd consumed a bottle of whiskey.

"I'd be in Hell, shunned by Father as he spent his time with his boyfriend," Damien said with a sigh, black eyes taking in the fireworks.

"I'd be in Florida, zinking about me true love," Christophe added, his accent thicker with the intoxication.

Taking a gulp from his drink Kenny grinned, "I'd probably be fucking some really hot chick."

They all took their turns saying what they'd be doing at the moment in time a year before, Stan last. "I'd be watching the fireworks at home, wishing the school year would hurry up and be done." With a sigh he shook his head. "And yet here we all are, wanting it to be a year ago."

"What about time travel?" Eric suggested. "Like we go back in time and relive it over, every year."

Kyle smacked him in the shoulder. "We tried that in forth grade, remember? We can't just run from the inevitable, don't you guys want to grow up, have kids, watch them do the same thing? Anyway, I for one don't want to give up what happened this year, there are too many good things that I don't want to screw up doing it a second time. I'm happy now."

"Yeah, Kyle's right, everything was perfect last year, who knows what we'd fuck up going back," Kenny said with an affirmative nod.

"Then this is the end, this is where we put it all behind us," Stan said looking completely serious, and wasted.

"Let's make an oath," Craig said, looking around at the familiar faces. "To the perfect senior year, to not dwelling, to living our lives to the fullest." He placed his free hand in the circle, still purple. They all did the same, half of the hands dark and violet.

"To life and the future!" they said in unison, the finale of the fireworks coating them in a rainbow of colour. It was there, high above South Park, summer changed to fall and they learned one of life's most important lessons.

* * *

Well that was the shortest chapter thus far, I was having a hard time coming up with things to do during summer xD I mean they're all eighteen, but they can't get into clubs with alcohol so that took out a few things. And I'd just like to mention, sea slugs _do_ stain your hands. That was based off of an actual experience, my hands were purple for years. I think the ink was gone completely seven years after the event, it wasn't fun x3 

Anyone want to make a guess at who Kenny was sent to guard? Or the couples in the initials? I'd like to see what you guys come up with there. Oh, I _do_ like Gregory, but it was just easier writing this story as if I didn't.

Profile has been updated with more fanart received from Bobby, gosh I love you girl. And me-ladie, I try to please you, you're my wife after all x3 Thanks to my reviewers, you guys really know how to flatter a girl.

One more chapter left. It's almost sad, but then again I can't wait.


	5. Chapter Four

**Warnings: **Course language, yadda yadda

**Disclaimer: **No, I still don't own anything.

**A/N: **I'm dedicating this chapter to my super best friend Rei, for not bitching that I made her read it. Was it who you guessed, creampuff? Oh, author note again found at the bottom, see ya there.

* * *

"So I go back to a pew, preacher, and a choir  
Singin' bout God, brimstone, and fire  
And the smell of Sunday chicken after church  
And I go back to the loss of a real good friend  
And the sixteen summers I shared with him  
Now "Only The Good Die Young" stops me in my tracks  
Everytime I hear that song,"

-"I Go Back" Kenny Chesney

Two days after the forth Kenny disappeared, no trace being found of the blonde in the whole tristate area. It was as if he'd vanished completely, walked off the face of the Earth. With no signs of struggle the murder investigation that had begun was closed within the first two weeks of his absence, and he was deemed a missing person and that was it. The two McComick parents didn't seem too upset; Kenny was a legal adult after all, he could pretty much do what he pleased, except buy alcoholic beverages. If anything they were distraught he'd drop his life without telling a soul, or leaving a note.

Pleading with Christophe, Kyle had him search for a possible identity change, the results showing Kenny hadn't started a new life under a different alias. The redhead had threatened if he didn't keep a steady eye on identities being created, Christophe would be out a boyfriend. On the third week Kyle had lost hope of ever seeing Kenny again, and held a private memorial service for the graduated class. Remarkably a day later he was cheerful again, all the sparkle that had been lost in his eyes returned.

However Butters didn't make the brilliant comeback Kyle had. He remained in an unshakable trance, dead to the world, once bright blue eyes grey and clouded. It wasn't surprising, the boy had always been close to Kenny, since they had met in preschool. Even when they (Cartman, Stan, Kyle, Kenny) had poked fun at the fidgety Leopold, the ladder would cast apologetic looks to him, and when the others weren't around act the true friend. It touched him that Kenny would go through the trouble, sometimes declining his other friends' company to hang out with him. Their friendship had become strong during junior high, and for Butters at least, had churned into something more. It had hurt to see the other blonde flounce with so many girls throughout the years, boast about some unforgiving act committed on another male.

So when the McCormick boy had been announced missing, he'd gone into shock, locking himself away in his room. No one had been able to breach the communication barrier for three days; not his parents, Kyle, Clyde, or even Christophe, whom he'd become increasingly captivated by. By the fifth day his parents had finally convinced him to go outside, but when spoken to answered in clipped comments, saying no more than needed. Many knew to avoid questions of Kenny, others just avoided speaking with Butters all together.

Kyle, though, felt it his duty to bring Butters around. In one such attempt the blonde lashed out, nailing the Jew in the eye, leaving a nice imprint of his class ring just below Kyle's brow. To keep him from kicking the fallen redhead Christophe restrained Butters, and called a fretting Dougie over to calm him. It had been a long twenty minutes of raised voices before the young teen had arrived, and the French boy was permitted to leave.

A week later it had calmed down indefinately, and Christophe lay on his bed, reading over papers he'd received from college preview. It'd been a long two days in the dorms and classrooms sorting schedules out so they weren't too bizarre and were manageable. Kyle double majored in English Literature and History: Liberal Arts, while Christophe majored in Sociology: Crime and Punishment with a minor in Psychology. Kyle found it amusing the mercenary would major in something about criminal punishment, until he realized then the French boy would know the backdoors of the legal system, and it became a scary thought.

"Don't tell me you're reading the apartment contract again, we already put down the down payment, it's useless to keep looking over that," came the annoyed voice of Kyle as he entered the room, carrying one of the kittens Christophe had kept, a solid grey girl named Lilityn for the lavender eyes she sported.

He grunted in response, eyes not wondering from the document. Who cared if he'd read the contract nearly seventy-eight times, looking for some hint that they'd sold their souls to the government? He certainly didn't.

With an irritable sigh the redhead snatched the papers away, whacking him over the head with it. He blinked, mind registering that he was looking at black sheets now before narrowing his eyes and glared up at the redhead. Where Butters had hit him he wore a bruise of red, tinged with green and yellow; luckily the swelling had gone down, but it was still remarkably noticeable.

"'ey, I was reading zat," he responded indignantly, sitting up, only to find a kitten dropped in his lap. Unconsciously he pet the cat, waiting.

"Yeah, I know, but it's time to accept the fake it's not a government conspiracy to lull you out of 'hiding'," Kyle said with a smirk. Laying down on the bed on his side, watching Christophe. "Anyway, the land lord seemed really nice, kind of old and fat, a bit skeptical, but nice."

"Yes, ze FBI always uses ze nice ones," Christophe muttered darkly. Of course he had never been caught by law enforcement before, but he'd heard rather gruesome tales of those that had, most from Vulpine that'd had several good people locked up for not covering their trails well enough.

"Stop being so paranoid, you're sounding like Tweek," Kyle said, reaching a hand over to pet Lilityn. She purred under his touch, sneaking out of Christophe's lap to rub against his face.

"I suppose I'm fidgety about ze job tomorrow," he said slowly, a lazy smile contradicting the words; though, who wouldn't find the redhead snuggled with the cat cute?

"Yeah, so am I." Christophe startled at that, why would Kyle be nervous about _his_ job? "Do you have to do it?"

"Yes I'm sure, _cher_, ze ozer mercenaries would make fun of me if I didn't."

Kyle giggled at the joke as the kitten nestled in his curls and lay down to sleep on his hair. "But why?"

"Why do I 'ave to go?" he asked, prying his kitten from Kyle's hair. She mewed, reaching a tiny paw out to the redhead in an attempt to get away, but smiling, Christophe held her tight so Kyle could sit up and nod. "It is income, love, if you want to keep ze apartment zen I 'ave got to do zis."

"But it's so dangerous! Can' you just do a bunch of small jobs?"

"_Non_, small jobs don't pay well, and what money et does pay gets spent toward ozer small jobs, so zere isn't much of a profit."

"But you dig holes! This is out of league for you."

"Ze confidence, et's overwhelming!" Christophe said, mock swooning. Lilityn let out a squeal of surprise, before sinking sharp baby teeth into his thumb in annoyance. As he pried her mouth off of him he said, "I already told you, I can do more zen just dig 'oles."

"Gregory's just doing it to get back at you!" Kyle insisted. "You know, for shoving a gun in his face. It hurt his British ego."

He nodded. "While I do agree wiz everyzing you 'ave just said, et is also a trust zing. 'e does 'ave better qualified assistants, per say, but none of zem have nearly twelve years of experience." Dropping the cat into Kyle's hands he grinned smugly. "And I'll get to wave around a gun some more."

Kyle sighed in a defeated manner, eyes downcast. "I just have a really bad feeling something is going to happen tomorrow night, and I've learned to trust my instincts after the psychic experience."

The redhead was a psychic? That was news to him. "You're a psychic?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I forgot you weren't around then. To get back at Cartman for claiming he was one I jumped off of a roof, and it really did awaken a gift. It's not like 'Oooooo, I can see into the future, ooo' it's more like a gut wrenching feeling if something bad is gonna happen," he explained, watching Christophe all the while. "So I don't think I can permit you to leave."

Christophe considered. "You say somezing bad will 'appen, but you do not know who et shall 'appen to, yes?" A nod. "Zen I am saved."

"But you're the only one that'll be in danger!" the redhead persisted, starling the kitten. Having had enough, Lilityn hissed at them both and wandered away, shaking her tail at her exit. The boys didn't seem to notice this though.

"Danger is everywhere, _cher_."

Seeming little satisfied by this Kyle frowned. The brunette watched curiously as the Jew fell into some line of thought, hands fluffing his auburn curls before his eyes lit. Grinning smugly the redhead pulled off the ring Christophe had given him and forced it into his boyfriend's grudging hand.

"There, now you have to come back from the assignment so I can have that back."

At first he'd just stared at the glittering ring, thinking Kyle had finally gone wacky, before realizing the significance. "I promise to come back, _cher_."

Smirking Kyle leaned upward, kissing his cheek gingerly. "You'd better, I don't know what I'd do without you." Although it was meant as a reassurance—to what Christophe couldn't fathom—he saw the utmost worry etched in Kyle's face, the way he composed himself. His thoughts broke as the redhead's annoyed voice said, "That was your cue to say something along those lines, but cuter."

"I zought we already established zat you are my world?" he inquired quizzically, blinking. Kyle just heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes.

"You don't say anything more than once, do you?"

In response he kissed the redhead fiercely, gaining a satisfying muffled moan. When he finally pulled away Kyle seemed disorganized, eyes unfocused before:

"Wo-ow."

"'Wow'? Zat is et? No 'Ohmigosh 'tophe you're such a sex-crazed maniac' or 'Christophe you're such a lovemuffin'?"

Giving the brunette a queer look he asked, "Did you just use the term 'lovemuffin'?"

"Yes, yes I did."

Shaking his head a slow smile swept across Kyle's lips before he licked them. "I'm such a bad influence on you."

Christophe climbed from the bed, extending one hand as he jacked his thumb toward the door. "Mm, yes you are. Now come, let's watch a movie and I'll whip up some _Amaretto Stone Sweets, _Christophe style.

Kyle let out a groan at the thought, taking the French boy's hand. Christophe's version of the drink included double the amount of Amaretto, a splash of rum, _Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper_ instead of cherry syrup, a very small amount of orange juice, and _Sprite_. Overall it was a fantastic mix, but the amounts of liquor involved created disastrous (and amusing) results.

"You know I can't hold down my booze," Kyle whined as the brunette cheerfully drug him downstairs into the kitchen. Luckily Noémie had taken the habit of 'going out' when they were over, usually stopping by the Broflovski resistance to chatter about their son's relationship with Sheila.

"Quite aware," the accented voice replied before the owner busied himself with making the drinks. "But zat is ze point."

"I thought you didn't like me when I drink."

Christophe gave him an amused look. "I like you all ze time, I'm just not partial to emotional drunk you. But I've learned what to mention and what not to."

"It's so amoral getting me drunk for your purposes," Kyle said with a scowl, crossing his arms while he watched.

"'ey, I'm not forcing you to drink, you can decline ze beverage if you want."

The Jew didn't bother responding, knowing well he was outmatched with the temptation. Instead he asked, "What movie do you plan on torturing me with?"

"_Ze Laybrinth_."

"So you can oogle at David Bowie?" the redhead hooted, making catcalls much to the other's irritation.

"If you can oogle Jaw Gordon, I can oogle David Bowie."

Of course Kyle didn't hear this, as he was chanting, "Christophe and David sittin' in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n-g. First came love, then came shaggin', then came Christophe in a fit—" Being smacked over the head his teasing came to a stop with a glare from the brunette.

"Aww, don't get your panties in a twist, everyone obsesses over someone," Kyle cooed, following Christophe into the living room.

"I 'ate you so much."

Three _Amaretto Stone Sweets_ later each, that comment was found quite false, neither of them paying attention to the movie that quoted so precisely:

"How you turn my world, you precious little thing."

---

The next day Stan and Cartman gladly agreed to keep Kyle busy while Christophe got ready for his mission. He'd been reluctant to leave Christophe's side until he lost the pin to one of the brunette's prized guns. After apologizing several times he finally agreed to leave.

Now he'd forgotten all about the mission, intent on the screen, ignoring Eric's colourful cursing and defeated sighs from Stan. They'd played on the Marsh boy's old _Okuma Gamesphere_ for several hours before officially deciding the graphics "sucked ass" and drug out _Super Smash Brothers_. Like he always did he played Pikachu, although the yellow furball continued to get it's tail beat like it had years before.

"Dudes, there has to be something better to do than play video games," Stan said, throwing down his orange controller.

"Yeah," Kyle said with a sigh, leaning his head back on Cartman's couch, setting the controller down much more gently.

Eric huffed indignantly. "Well fine! If you guys have a better idea, let's hear it."

"What if we invited Butters over? Then he could have some fun, too," Kyle suggested, glancing between them. Stan just gave him a look before the large one burst into tittering laughter.

"Ha! You really want to get sucker punched again?"

"Well no, but—"

"Dude, just drop it." He glanced at Stan, surprised. "If Butters doesn't want to get happy, don't force him to. It'll only make him more miserable, especially hanging with Kenny's best friends."

"I guess you're right," he said with a painstaking sigh. Giving a nod Stan grabbed him by the arm, pulling him off of the pink carpet.

"Come on, let's take a walk, maybe we can figure something out to do."

After many complaints by Eric they were trudging down the sidewalk to no where in particular, kids passing on skateboards or heard laughing in the distance. They fell into thoughts about their own childhood, running around playing absurd games and feeling the effects of puppy love.

"Damn, adulthood is depressing," the raven-haired boy said after a long stretch of silence.

"Yeah," Kyle agreed, stuffing hands into khaki pants.

"Well let's do something, jackasses," Eric commented with his usual eye-rolling. It was an action he'd picked up through the years, instead of waving his fist in defiance.

Stan considered, biting the end of his tongue and pinched his nose. "Why don't we go see _Willy Wonka_?"

"La-me! Like we really need to see some pale skinny child molesting freak obsessed with chocolate, we've got Damien."

"Damien doesn't molest kids, fatass!" Kyle hissed, narrowing his eyes at the grinning Cartman. Eric shrugged as if it didn't matter if the anti-Christ did or didn't.

"Oh, yeah, that's right, Damien can't get any."

The redhead sighed, knowing it impossible to win. Instead he made a suggestion, "Why don't we go chuck rocks at cars?"

Stan cringed at the thought, shaking his head rapidly. "No way, dude, most of the people driving in this town we know, and they'll get pissed off if we scratch the paint."

"Goddamnit, adulthood does suck," Eric growled, tugging on his 70's styled, malted brown hair. "Oh I know! Let's go swimming at the pool."

"I don't want to swim in first grader pee," Kyle said with a disgusted look, clapping his hands together and smoothing the air out. "I'm out on that idea."

Stan followed the motion, "Me too, dude."

"Fine, Stark's Pond."

"There's worse shit in the pond then first grader pee," the Jew warned, shaking his head. By now they'd walked passed the residential area to a stretch of road surrounded by trees, dying grass, dirt, and rocks. Incidentally they were heading toward Stark's Pond, anyway.

"Fine! Jesus Christ…why don't we play that old game, 'Americans verse Bosnians' or whatever? You know, where we had the guns and went 'pyew pyew'?"

The quarterback pinched his nose as Kyle stilled, instantly reminded of Christophe. "Damnit Cartman, you had to say that, didn't you?"

"What, what did I say?" Turning Eric faced the two, smirking evilly at Kyle's stilled form. "Stop being such a nagging little waif, Jew-boy, it's not like _Christopher _gets hurt in every assignment."

"Yes…yes he does, and his name is _Christophe_," Kyle choked, eyes narrowing to slits.

"Heh, well it's not like your pussy French boytoy is going to get killed."

_That_ did it. Kyle let out a howl of rage before jumping on Cartman, fist colliding with his jaw as they went down. Eric yelped at the contact, head whipping to one side as he was punched. Before Kyle could throw another he was rolling them both into the grass, struggling to get on top. Kyle hissed in pain, biting his lip as Eric's elbow smacked him in the still tender eye Butters had hit, and he'd gotten hit at the _Orgy_ concert. Although he was swinging at Cartman he still couldn't help but think, '_Do I have some sort of target on my eye that everyone can see but me? Fucking Christ…_'

"Don't call Christophe a pussy, fatass!"

"I'll call whoever I fucking feel like it a pussy, you piece of Jewish crap!"

"I'll kill you!"

"Not before I kill you, you won't!"

"Like you could kill anyone, maybe with your enormous ass but besides that?"

"AY! I don't have to take this crap from you!"

"Ow!"

Stan stood on the sidelines, mildly entertained as they rolled around, scuffling and throwing insults. It wasn't surprising, really, no matter the subject of fights they could never keep it serious, instead ended up bickering back and forth. He crossed his arms, stepping out of the way as they got too near.

"Yeah, well guess what? I hope Frenchy does die!" Cartman shouted, flaring Kyle's anger once more into something deadly. With new vigour he stuck his foot on Eric's stomach and shoved, pushing him off onto the hard ground. Snarling the redhead kicked Cartman swiftly in the ribs, which didn't happen to be the best move he could have done. Eric grabbed his foot, off balancing Kyle and sent him back to the ground as they starting their fight again, now escalating to something dangerous.

A car squealed to a stop behind them, startling only Stan. Looking back he saw Craig getting out of some small compact silver car and running over to them, black hair flying across his face.

"What the Hell is going on here?"

"They're fighting," Stan said as if it was an everyday occurrence, and usually was.

"They look like they're going to kill each other, should we stop them?"

"Uh…I guess so," the Marsh boy said, finally noticing how serious the normal grappling had gotten. "Pull Kyle off and I'll keep fatass down."

With a nod Craig boldly grabbed a handful of Kyle's auburn curls, yanked, and pressed two fingers between his shoulder blades. Shouting out in pain he shuddered at the touch, instantly cringing away from Cartman and shuddered. Craig was impressed how much it was like grabbing a cat by the scruff of its neck, and grinned as Stan pulled Eric back to a stand, his nose bleeding, lip puffy, jaw blossoming into a colourful bruise. Kyle got to his feet as well as Craig tugged on his hair.

"Stop touching between shoulders," the Jew hissed.

"Don't go after Cartman, then."

"If he promises not to be a dick, sure."

Craig gave Eric a deadly look that only the bully of the school could manage. Cartman buckled, huffing. "Fine." With a nod of approval he let go of Kyle to examine the extent of damage done. His eye was beginning to swell and bruise once again, his lip was bleeding from where he'd bitten it, and nail marks were raw and beginning to drip blood down his arms, but that seemed to be the most of it.

"So why—"

"Why were you out here?" Stan asked, interrupting him from provoking any more fighting.

"Oh, uh, I was about to go pick Tweek up and go to the mall, you guys wanna come?"

"We wouldn't be imposing?" Kyle asked, sucking on his lip.

Craig shook his head before sauntering back to his car. "Wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you guys to come. So are you?"

"We're kind of bleeding," Kyle said, giving up on stopping his lip from bleeding, now spitting any of the metallic liquid out onto the ground.

"Yeah, I noticed," Craig said dryly before getting into the drivers side, waiting for them. "There's a first aid kit in the dash, fill free to not bleed on the leather seats with it."

"Ha ha, very funny, assrammer," Cartman growled, rabbing the kit and got into the backseat with the others.

"Why do you have a first aid fit?" Stan asked as the two injured began to doctor their wounds.

"I'm always driving around Tweek," he replied before pulling off the side of the road and heading toward the Tweak resistance like it explained everything. And sadly, it did.

---

They wandered the mall aimlessly with no shoppe in mind to stop in, each carrying a different flavour _Starbucks Frappachino_ that they'd periodically switch off. At one point they lost Cartman, to be found running out of _Victoria's Secret_ with several angry woman cursing at him. From then on out they decided to stay away from that section of the mall, to the side that had a carousel installed. It proved to be the better of plans, as they found Mark Cotswolds and Red chatting idly by one of the penny pools. Seeing the boys' approach Red waved enthusiastically.

"Hey guys, what's up?" Startled, Mark turned to see them, nodding his head in greeting.

"Just walking around, keeping Cartman from being mauled by kicks," Stan answered as they all took a seat on the edge of the penny pool.

"Ay!"

Red giggled behind her hand. "What'd he do?"

"He won't tell us, but we're guessing it's got something to do with watching chicks change in _Vicky's Secret_, or feeling up the lingerie, or maybe sniffing them," Kyle said, taking a sip from his iced coffee.

"AY! Shut your mouth, Jew-boy."

"Cartman," Craig said in warning, giving his 'the' look.

"I can't help he's a Jew."

Mark sighed, running a hand through his curls. "You really shouldn't insult a person based solely on religious beliefs, Eric, it's quite improper."

"Shut up, Mark."

They all began their separate conversations and arguments, lasting a near ten minutes before Tweek squealed, "Isn't that your little Canadian brother, Kyle?"

Surprised he turned to face the direction the blonde was pointing a shaking finger, toward the carousel. "Where?"

"With that blonde haired girl—oh Jesus, they're snogging!"

Narrowing his eyes he spotted a couple of kids—one indeed his brother, the other a girl that he recognized by the name of Flora—kissing violently. Snarling he tossed his coffee into the garbage and stalked toward them, barely hearing Stan whisper:

"Ike's in trouble now."

He made his stripe slow and deliberate, so when Flora looked up she saw him. Her eyes widened a tad as she poked Ike in the shoulder and pointed behind toward him. Ike seemed to not notice, but stilled at her description. Finally he stopped a foot behind them, glaring menacingly at the back of Ike's head.

"Ike, what the fuck are you doing?"

The Canadian turned to face Kyle and feigned surprise, then confusion. "Excuse me, do I know you?" he said sweetly, with a thread of fear laced in his words.

"Yeah, I'd hope so being your brother and shit," the redhead replied, hands going to his hips in a very Sheila-ish fashion.

"Can't this wait, Kiley? I'm sure you can see I'm with someone."

"Yeah, I was with my friends as well," he gestured behind him at the group of high school graduates, "before I saw you tonguing this girl." Flora seemed genuinely embarrassed, cheeks turning a stunning shade of red.

"We can talk about it at home," Ike persisted.

"No, we're talking about it _now_ where Mom doesn't have to find out, what would she say?"

Ike cracked a small smile. "Probably blame it on you for being so open with your relationship."

"Exactly! And I don't know about you, but I don't want Mom to start hating Christophe," his stomach turned at the name, "because 'I'm a bad influence'."

Ike pouted. "I don't see what's so wrong with it, you kiss Christophe all the time!"

Before he could answer Flora's timid voice asked, "C—Christophe?"

"Yeah," the two boys replied in unison, giving her a dumb look. "Why?"

"Isn't that a—a boys name?"

Again, the reply was in two voices. "Yeah."

She looked down at the floor, baby blues hidden under honey coloured hair. "So that means you're g—gay?" Kyle gave a slight nod, a brow raised. He couldn't blame Ike for not telling his little girlfriend, but she seemed so shocked. "O—oh, I didn't know, I'm s—sorry for asking."

"Don't be," he said waving the question off. "Now to the problem, nine-year-olds should _not_ be going to first base in public, or better yet anywhere. Don't you kids know what cooties are?"

"My brother gave me a cootie shot," Flora said abruptly, reminding Kyle of the old rhyme: _Circle circle dot dot, now you've got a cootie shot_. How on Earth did that protect anyone from the likes of the love parasite?

"It doesn't matter, you've got to wait until you're at least in the ninth grade to do such a thing, or people will think you're whores."

Ike tsked. "Just because you were prude and waited doesn't mean I am, Kiley."

"Just because society's ideals on sex are lowering each generation, doesn't mean you can go around playing tonsil wars," Kyle said strictly, using the edge their mother had. "Promise me you're not going to degrade yourself."

"I promise," Ike sighed, looking up from under his bangs to give a puppy-dog look. Kyle nodded appreciatively, tousling his hair before trotting off to his friends. Stan just grinned at him as he approached.

"Didn't seem like you yelled at him to me."

"Ike doesn't need to be yelled at, he learns his lessons pretty easily," Kyle said. "Now what?"

"Let's ride the carousel!" Red said with a giggle, waving them toward it. As the three-minute ride commenced, Kyle felt like time was slowing, switching directions, and sighed heavily.

It wouldn't be the only time that day he felt the sickening slow of time.

---

The sky melded into a ruddy brown, blending with extraordinary hues of blue and purple as night quickly closed in. Stars glittered, almost a tittering reminder of escapades the French boy had been involved it at sundown, no moon to be seen in the cloudless sky. It'd taken weeks of planning ahead of time to get the perfect day for the assignment, when the new moon was fresh and evaded the vision. But they'd done it, and under the cover of the inky blackness they'd perform the task.

Christophe sat in the tidiness that was Gregory's room, slightly uncomfortable, feeling that if he touched anything it would somehow be out of place. It was like this every time he had bothered to seek out the blonde Brit, disgustingly clean despite the bashful attempts Gregory had said the place was a mess. The only thing he saw that could be considered "a mess" were the stacks of papers littering the hardwood desk, but they were still organized.

Seeing his agitation, but taking it as something different Gregory threw him a small smile. "Relax, Christophe, you're assignment will go perfectly well."

"Zat is not my problem, et's zis ridiculously clean zing you call a room," he growled, waving a gloved hand at his surroundings. "Rooms are supposed to be personalized, not like zis."

"I happen to like books and being orderly, thank you!" Gregory replied proudly from his computer chair. "Because I don't dawdle my life away watching obscene movies and littering my perfectly nice walls with pornographic posters doesn't mean my room isn't 'personalized'."

"Who 'ave you been around lately zat 'as pornographic posters?" Christophe asked, raising a brow. Gregory seemed utterly shocked he'd ask such a thing, or rather flustered, and waved the question away as if it wasn't important.

"Now you're aware of what you have to do, correct?"

"_Non_, I don't zink I 'ave understood what you 'ave been saying for ze last 'our and twenty minutes, please do repeat yourself a few more times."

"This isn't the time for jokes, Christophe!"

The brunette rolled his eyes; of course it wasn't, did Gregory think he was dumb? Jokes, they were a tool to release nervousness and anxiety. _That's_ why he was being cocky. "Quite aware."

"Then do you under—"

"Yes, I am to penetrate ze 'ouse you're targeting, break ze safe located in ze master bazroom 'idden be'ind ze mirror, get whatever is in ze safe and get ze fuck out, preferably wizout killing anyone."

Gregory nodded. "To be cliché, it's a jewel heist."

"Not surprising," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "So where is my backup?"

"Backup?" Gregory asked, as if the word was foreign.

"Yes, yes, backup. You cannot expect me to go into such a large 'ouse alone unless you really are trying to get me killed?"

"No, no, I want you out alive and well."

"Then where is my backup?"

"Well, I didn't think—"

"Sheet!" he shouted in his customary fashion, suddenly on his feet as he paced. "We 'ave less zen zirty minutes before we've got to leave! 'ow are we supposed to get anyone up 'ere now?"

"I suppose we won't, you'll have to do it alone."

"I am not going in zere alone, you piece of sheet!" Christophe snarled, grabbing Gregory by the front of the shirt and shook him. "I don't care if I've got to take you in zere wiz me, someone is going!"

"You know I cannot assist you," the blonde said calmly, prying the French one's hands away from his collar. "I am keeping watch elsewhere, being in the centre of the action will do nothing but get us both killed."

Muttering obscenities under his breath he began to pace rapidly, stride eating the distance between the door and an opposite bookshelf in twos. Finally he took his cell phone from his pants pocket and scrolled through the phone book, much to Gregory's dismay, and hit the name 'Hellspawn Home'. When he'd first heard Damien had a homeline in Hell he'd laughed in amusement, until the anti-Christ assured him it was true. It was that day he'd learned Hell had phone lines, but didn't pick up satellite reception.

It rang twice before a gruff voice answered, one he knew to be Saetan's. "Hello?"

"Can I speak wiz your son?"

"Who is this?"

"Ze Mole."

"Ooh! Christophe, sorry, I should have recognized your voice! So how is life treating you? Haven't seen you in quite some time, what was it, about fifteen minutes?"

"Et really is urgent, Saetan."

"Oh, right, I'm sorry. Hold on a second, I'll go get him." The receiver filled with sounds of tortured screams and the song _Fuck Her Gently_. He'd only called Hell once before, but the choice of hold songs still managed to entertain him.

"Christophe, what do you want?" the irritated, high-pitched voice of Damien asked.

"You've been bored, yes?"

"Mm, yeah, why?"

"Ever been on a jewel 'eist?"

---

The house loomed ahead, outlined in the darkness faintly, trees and shrubbery surrounding it, along with a rot iron fence. That had been no problem, his specialty was holes after all, it would have taken merely seconds had the fence not have been extended downward in an electric current. The smug anti-Christ took the time he did to twiddle with the wiring to phase behind the fencing and shatter the powerbox. When asked why he hadn't just hit the button to swing the gate open Lucifer's son had said, "It was more fun seeing you struggle."

Now they crouched by a side door, as Damien jammed a nail into the lock, it instantly springing undone. Before they had left the son of Saetan had set his grounds; if he could make the job go easier, he would, no matter how miffed Christophe got, and he wouldn't take any payment for his services. The French boy had agreed, amazingly; he could be doing better things, after all.

Damien leaned down, cinnamon breath on his neck startling. "We're in, where's the master bedroom?"

"Upstairs, second floor, but remember once I get zere you're to keep guard," Christophe whispered back, slipping his infamous _Taurus PT 100_ into his grip, just in case. Damien gave a curt nod before swinging the door open, as if there might _not_ be a gunman on the other side; guess once you're immortal, you don't worry about getting shot, right?

Christophe slid in, clunky boots silent on the marble flooring. His senses prickled, becoming alert as deep brown eyes darted around, taking in everything. With his back to a wall at all time he cautiously rounded corners, gun trained to the ceiling. Some people found it easier training to the ground, but he thought the spit second longer it took to bring the gun up was a difference. And it was just more comfortable on his elbows.

Crouched, he went up the stairs, watching the second floor landing as if something would jump out ad shout, "Caught you! Hah, you're dead!" Damien shoved passed him, grinding pointy teeth in annoyance and stood on the landing, looking down at Christophe. The brunette mouthed, "Know you no caution?" and received a shrug and smile.

'_No one is here, come up already_," the anti-Christ's voice whispered in his mind. Christophe glared, but followed Damien's words and hurried up the stairs before returning to his crouch and swiftly strode toward where the master bedroom was located.

Of course, Damien made it there first, and checked around for anyone or devices before the Mole had even passed into the threshold. Waving the Hell-spawn out of the way with the gun he slipped passed him into the bathroom.

It would have been impressive, had there not have been a dead dog laying in front of the hot tub, blood oozing in a dark pool from a hole in its skull. He instinctually froze, wary of how the dog had been killed before Damien's voice rang through his head.

'_When I came in it was asleep, I thought it might not bode well if it was alive so I killed it with the gun you gave me. Silencers are really useful, you know_.'

He gave a nod as if Damien could see it and glanced between the three mirrors. One stretched along one wall above the counterspace, one opened into a medicine cabinet, leaving the small oval mirror the doorway into the safe. It seemed like a perfectly normal mirror, but he knew better; there had to be a way to get it to reveal what he wanted. Christophe studied it curiously before noticing a small slit at the top, and grinned to himself—aha! Tucking his gun into the holster in the hollow of his back he took out a small, blank plastic and crammed it into the slit. The mirror made a distinct clicking noise before falling forward on hidden hinges, nearly hitting the wall, had he not have grabbed it. Sighing he placed the card back in his pocket and glared sideways at the safe; a combination lock, like it would be anything else.

As one hand twirled the dial, the other was placed very near the locking mechanism to feel for the clicks. In his mind he sung, smiling at the absolute uncharacteristic behavior, and irony. '_Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face ze strain) ch-ch-changes. Don't want to be a richer man. Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face ze strain) ch-ch-changes. Just gonna 'ave to be a different man. Time may change me, but I can't trace time._'

As the lock clicked and the safe opened, Damien appeared in the room.

"Shit, dude, dogs are coming, and there is someone in the house!"

Christophe whipped around, glaring accusingly. "What are you doing 'ere zen? Go kill ze dogs!"

"I—I can't!"

"You killed zis one!" Christophe hissed harshly, waving his hand at the dead dog.

"No—no I didn't, it was already dead," Damien whispered back. "Get up on the counter, the dogs will come in and smell that one. I'll hold them off, but it will only be for a splitsecond so you've got to haul ass."

"Zen I will kill zem!"

"No! You have to get out, you can't take bullets and live, I can. I'll get the jewels and meet you outside, just go!"

Christophe's mind raced with the news. Damien hadn't killed the first dog, then who had? Was the anti-Christ just setting him up, leading the other dogs in? Where was the person in the house? Was he going to get the chance to give Kyle his ring back?

'_Yes_!' he thought to himself, climbing soundlessly onto the counter. He knew better to run from dogs, it just brought out their predatory sense, but in _no way_ was he going to get attacked because a certain demon was too weak in the stomach to kill a dog. If it was a cute dog, maybe he could sympathize, but if it turned out to be a German Shepherd like the one bleeding all over the floor, he was going to be pissed.

Snuffing issued from the doorway, and growls as two big mixed breeds walked in, immediately going for their dead companion. He held his breath, waiting for them to pass completely before vaulting off the counter and scrambling from the bathroom. The dogs let out a howl and turned on their heels to follow the chase, until a wall of flames erupted between them and Christophe. Silently thanking Damien for 'not being a completely pussy' he raced down the corridor dedicated to guest chambers, heart racing.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was most likely going to die, but a voice told him otherwise and urged him out. It was about that time the dogs caught up, snarling on his heels as he rounded the corner to where the main stairs rolled in a cascade of marble on the other side of the ballroom, where a figure was stepping out of a corridor, raising a hand, with what appeared to he a handgun clasped in it. Time slowed, appearing to be viewed out of crystal as that arm was being raised and he was given one choice if he didn't want to die a _really_ painful death.

He jumped.

Vaulting over the banister he did what he'd seen done in action movies of all sorts, grab firmly to the chandelier, knowing well that it wouldn't hold his weight. As soon as gravity took effect it broke the drywall of the ceiling, falling in a downward arch to where the cord was hanging. As it fell a gunshot sounded, skimming his shoulder, but the pain wasn't noticed; his attention was for the glass window he was about to go through. He had a split second to think, '_Maybe I should 'ave zought zis zrough_,' before letting the chandelier go and hit the glass, having it shatter around him. It was pure instinct to tuck into a roll before hitting the hard, glass littered ground.

A moment of disorientation, then alertness telling him he was still being shot at. Only adrenaline got him on his feet, and Damien appearing out of no where kept him standing. Searing pain was Christophe's last conscious thought, accompanied by the comment:

"That was one hellavu exit."

---

White, blinding white.

'_Am I dead?_'

No, no you're not dead or you wouldn't be able to talk to yourself, idiot.

'_Where am I?_'

Where do you go when you've crashed through a window?

'_Ze 'ospital?_'

No, Jesus Christ, are you stupid? You fall into your subconscious, that part of you you usually ignore because you're a prat.

'_My subconscious doen't 'ave an accent? Zat is weird_.'

Well what do you expect? You're French-American, after all.

'_Am I really zat cocky?_'

Yeah, simply amazing, huh?

'_So where is my body?_'

At your house, safely tucked under the covers. I'm pretty sure you're bleeding all over your sheets, but it's black so it really doesn't matter.

''_ow long 'ave I been out of et?_'

All night. You really should wake up soon, the extent of the damage wasn't that bad, I mean Damien and Gregory didn't take you to the hospital. Of course, it would have looked a bit suspicious having one of the most prestigious houses broken in to, and someone walking in with glass embedded into his body. You really should have worn that long sleeved sweater.

'_Oh ho ho, very funny._'

I thought so too.

'_Give me a damage report._'

Six stitches in your shoulder from where the bullet hit you, multiple cuts across your body, most of which Damien healed so Mom wouldn't worry, three stitches in a gash across your back from hitting glass in the roll, nine stitches across your left cheek for being a dumbass and going through a window, plenty of blood loss. Over all not that bad.

'_A total of eighteen stitches isn't zat bad?_'

It could have been worse, you could have died, you could have been attacked by guard dogs, but you weren't so stop bitching.

'_You aren't me_.'

Heh…no I'm not.

'_Zen you are not my subconscious, so where ze fuck am I?_'

It's your subconscious on several levels, not you talking to yourself, but me talking to you. It's a different part of the brain, not the frontal lobe. You only fall this deep into yourself when you're a) completely drugged up b) are a scizomaniac or c) have almost encountered death. For your case, it's a little bit of them all.

'_I'm not crazy, zough_.'

No, no you aren't. You just have an interesting perspective on things…I can't explain your own brain functions to you, that's kind of out of my league.

'_And who are you?_'

Heh, can't tell you, not now anyway.

'_Zen get ze fuck out of my head!_'

Okay, but I'm warning you, you're going to be in more pain then imaginable, and I'm sorry for that.

---

He came to awareness, moaning at the soreness his body was. His shoulder ached, cheek burned, and he felt the skin drown taut where the other stitches must be, but it wasn't "more pain than imaginable". He sat up, grinding his teeth at the resisting muscles and blinked, eyes beginning to focus. He was indeed in his room, the curtains drawn shut to keep out the light that signaled it was late morning or afternoon.

The first thing Christophe noticed was his clothing had been changed to pajamas, the second a packet of papers sitting on his side table. Reaching a stubborn hand to the packet he grabbed them, brows furrowing at what they were. He'd given Kyle the papers to the apartment to keep, why were they here? Shrugging it off he ripped open an elaborate envelope addressed to him in Kyle's distinctive curling handwriting; it probably explained it here. However, he got something completely different, several words smeared with droplets, the writing womanly.

'_tophe,_

_How can I put my love into words? You were the most wonderful person I was ever graced the knowledge of knowing. Since I met you in the War I knew we had something, when you died I was horrorstucken. I couldn't show it then, I had to keep the world from ending, but I went home and cried. But when I saw you in school that day, I was lifted and knew we were meant to be. The cliff, the kiss…that made me realize all too well how much I'd fallen for you. The night of Stan's party you helped me get over old demons, and I thank you. Because of that you allowed me to love and be loved once more._

_Am I sounding cliché? I'm sorry, but I don't know how else to express myself but with the memories. We fought over something stupid Gregory said, but we couldn't fight forever, and then we went to France and strengthened our emotions by the complex act of sex. Hah, that took the poetry right out of it. Anyway…we've been through just about everything a married couple has been, minus the kids and house payments; jealousy, arguments, undying love, hot sex, annoying family members, family disagreements...you name it, we've done it._

_And I loved you through it all. Always know that. Not once did I ever think of dumping you, rejecting you; we set a nice pace and followed through. Indefinately. This must sound like a breakup, hm? No, I'm sorry, I never wanted to cause you pain! Just know that. I didn't mean to get distracted. I didn't mean to let the car spin out of control. I didn't mean to die in the hospital. I really didn't. You know how you always said you were a distraction? I guess this just proves it._

_I guess I won't be getting my ring back; keep it safe, close to your heart, where I do hope I'll always be. But please, if anyone loves you, try to love them back; don't hold on too close to what is gone. That is the lesson we learned on the forth of July, isn't it? I'd rather see you happy where ever I'm going then miserable and clinging because of me._

_Oh Christophe, what to do now? I love you so much, I wanted to go to college with you. Ah, now you can run your business instead of being a slave to the government conspiracy, lol. Though I do hope you continue your studies despite. Take care of the kitties for me, okay? And tell your Mom that I said she had a wonderful son and I'll miss her dearly. Give Ike a hug and tell him why nine-year-olds shouldn't be snogging, okay? But most importantly, tell yourself it'll be okay, that we'll see each other one day, that it's okay to cry. Don't be so strong, you'll worry people, and nervous breakdowns aren't fun._

_With all of my heart,_

_Your _cher, _Kyle_

He read it once, breathing shallow, shocked, and read it twice before the words sunk in. As they did he felt the scratches on his cheeks burn, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed, clutching the note in desperation.

Kyle was dead.

---

The funeral was the following Tuesday, giving the body enough time to be prepared. Christophe was sickened by the affair, people dressed in black wandering the Synagogue, many of them having never known Kyle. He was in black as well, his usual colour choice, not out of tradition, but comfort. Tears, everyone was crying, but that was one of the basic principles of Jewish funerals, open emotional venting.

Noémie kept a gentle grasp on his shoulder, careful of the bruises and scratches he still sported. As he slid through the rows of pews people stopped to stare, be it from the stitches in his face or his worn condition, he didn't particularly care. Yeah, he felt like shit; who wouldn't after going through a window? But that wasn't what created the rolling churn in his stomach, the hollow feeling. _His_ Kyle was dead, this whole ordeal proved it.

Denial, the brunette hadn't felt it. It was something he'd never learned, never paid much attention to; he either accepted things, or blew them off because they were stupid, there was no middle ground. And the news of the redhead's passing hadn't been any different. He'd known it had to be true, or Kyle would've been waiting in his room for when he awoke. He knew it was rue the way his mother cautiously walked in and held him for hours, whispering comforting words in the soft purr of the French language. Even the calls he kept receiving made him alert to the truth, so much so he'd been forced to take the battery pack out of his phone so the annoying ringtone would stop chiming.

Noémie had been the one to explain what had happened. Kyle had been driving home from Tweek's, so lost in thought he'd forgot to steer. By the time he realized this deadly mistake he'd lost control, the car spinning into oncoming traffic, to be plowed in the driver's side. He hadn't died instantly, he'd been taking to the hospital where he'd been admitted to severe condition, paralyzed, and had his mother write the note for him. The person he'd hit had gone through the windshield, not wearing her seatbelt; it'd been Alice.

"_I'll kill you Kyle Broflovski!"_ The words she'd so carelessly hollered at the homecoming dance rang with truth; she had killed him, though took herself along for the ride.

"Hey, isn't that the deceased's boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"I heard they'd broken up and Kyle was so upset he took a suicide drive."

"No way!"

"Yeah, it was like, murder!"

Rumours, there'd been plenty of them through his senior year, many revolving around his relationship with Kyle, so it wasn't a difficult challenge to block out all of the accusatory voices. Christophe trudged toward the Broflovski family, standing in a small, secluded circle near the front, but just out of site of the displayed body. Sheila balled, clutching a sopping tissue to her red eyes, Gerald's eyes were tinged as well, but his face was set in stone as he wrapped an arm around his wife, and Ike seemed confused. The lawyer inclined his head, eyes flashing sympathy. He'd never been too close with the man, Gerald had always been at his lawfirm when he'd been over, but when they did talk they got along well.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said as he approached, the words themselves sounding hollow. Sheila let go of her husband, throwing her thick arms around his neck.

"Oh Christophe! How can you even say that? You two were so close—you were like family! You would've been if, if—" she burst into tears, tightening her hold around him. Christophe hissed in pain as er pain passed the stitches in his upper back.

"Ms. Broflovski, I appreciate ze sentiment, really I do, but ze stitches," he started, stilling as if I'd keep them from popping loose. She immediately pulled away, horror in her eyes as she realized what she'd done.

"I'm so sorry!" she choked, shying from him as if he'd break. Christophe smiled faintly at the gesture and hugged her, gently.

"Idle apologies being zrown around, zat is what I 'ate about such affairs," the brunette said, exhausted. Pulling away he looked down at the raven-haired boy, that didn't acknowledge his presence, and decided he'd tackle the child of the family later.

It was the better of the decisions, as Stan and Cartman walked up then, both with matching lines down heir faces from where tears had dried in a tacky substance. He had the urge to reach up and rub it off, but resisted.

"Dude, ah, I'm just sorry. I shouldn't have let him drive at night, but he always seemed so good and just," Stan sighed, tumbling over his words.

"Et wasn't your fault, do not apologize," Christophe said a little harshly, shaking his head. "'e was your best friend for sixteen years, I should be sympathizing wiz you."

"Yeah but I didn't love him, I men I did but not like _that_."

He nodded, waiting for Eric to say anything, but the boy never did. He remained silent through the rest of the procedures, finally learning how important his friends were; they'd had no one else through the years, it was a matter of sticking together.

As they paid their respects tot he family the French boy knelt in front of Ike, fluffing his hair affectionately. He'd been closest to the child, after Kyle, preferring the Canadian's company over the adult's.

"'ow are you doing?" he asked gently as Ike lifted watery blue eyes to him.

"He's really gone, isn't he?" Christohe gave a nod, not trusting himself to speak. "It's so weird, I mean I talked to him the day before in the mall, more like got lectured but I still talked to him. Then I was in the hospital, after Mom had talked to him, and he seemed so sad, not because he'd die but he'd leave so many people behind. It's…unfair."

"Life is 'ardly ever fair," he choked.

"I…I want to see him on last time, before he's gone forever," Ike said with a sigh. Christophe nodded, taking the boy's hand and lead him up to the casket. Kyle seemed so pale, moreso dressed in the white gowns and shawls, that he was informed was Jewish custom. He smiled to himself; no wonder Kyle had always avoided white if he could, his hair seemed so much more firey and orange, and he could only guess the startling contrast of his ivy green eyes.

"He seems peaceful."

"'e seems dead."

"That too, and even asleep he smiles."

"'e snores and talks to 'imself," he said with a grin, realizing why he loved Ike's company so much; his childish charm always lightened things, and being young, he didn't fully understand death. Or perhaps, he understood a lot more then everyone else.

"Yeah," Ike turned to him as he began to edge toward the exit. "Where are you going?"

"Places of worship make me uncomfortable."

"Oh, well, I still get to see you even though Kyle's gone, right?"

Christophe strode back to the boy, hugging him. "Of course, I'll visit when I can."

"He really loved you, you know."

A smile and a nod. "I do know, yes, very much."

---

A week following the funeral Christophe found himself in the apartment he now owned, completely empty of any furniture. He decided he would follow through with college, because Kyle had wanted it, and for the chance to possibly better himself. Of course classes didn't start for another two weeks, giving him plenty of time to move in.

But now he wandered the bare rooms, remembering how Kyle had explained every room was to look. He smiled to himself despite the dreary atmosphere; even the sky had opened to a bout of rain, lightning crashing across the sky, reminding him more of his redheaded Jew, now deceased.

"You're suck a cock licking bastard, God, _always_ taking what I cherish," Christophe muttered to himself, resting his head against the sliding glass door to watch the rain fall. "Do you get off on et? I'm beginning to zink et's a zrill."

"He knows no limits," a voice answered behind him. Whipping around he balked, seeing a familiar blonde standing in the naked living room, shimmering hawk-like wings folded neatly behind him. "Hi Christophe."

"Kenneth?"

Kenny flashed a grin, as bright as the halo whizzing above his head. "You remember me."

"You're supposed to be dead."

The blonde shook his head, blonde hair flying. "No, I never died. Remember the forth, the oath we made? I was sent to make sure none of you would tamper with time, especially you."

"_Moi_?"

"Yeah, you've always shown interest in time travel, what with watching that _Donnie Darko_ movie and whatnot."

Christophe shook his head, bemused. "So you're an angel, whoop de doo? Why would I tamper wiz tiem?"

Kenny stalked toward him, stopping a foot away. "You've got the knowledge, you've got the means, I saw it in your head that night."

"So you were in my subconscious?"

"Mm, yeah. But you know, I kind of failed as a angel."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, in stupid terms I was sent to make everything was good in Christopheverse, but unfortunately _you_ were supposed to kick the bucket," he smirked, seemed little angry by that. "Damnit, Frenchy, you weren't supposed to have back up. You were supposed to go in, and Alice's sister was supposed to kill you, no crashing through windows, no escaping. But by alluding death, you sentenced your other half, Kyle, to death, and in the long run you knocked Alice off her game as well."

He raised a hand to keep the blonde from speaking. "You mean, I robbed Alice?"

"Yep, that was her house, dude."

Sighing the brunette slid to the floor. "Zis is so confusing, 'ave ze authorities got any sign I was zere? Zey must 'ave, I bled all over ze place."

"Yes, you did, unfortunately, but I cleaned it up so the authorities are baffled."

"Zank you?"

"Yeah, well, Gabriel would be pissed off if you ended up in jail for life, so it was kind of the default thing to do. He'd turn me mortal, ug, I don't want to be human."

"You're immortal?"

"Well, yeah, I'm an angel after all."

They stayed in silence for several minutes, the thunder rolling in the distance as a reminder. Finally Christophe spoke up, "Kenneth, why are you really 'ere?"

Kenny smiled smugly, eyes twinkling. "Damn, you're good. Again, in stupid terms, I'm your guardian angel."

"Didn't do such a 'ot job."

"Don't remind me," he moaned. "But Kyle is fine, he really is in a better place. I can't really describe it, everyone sort of makes their own Heaven or hell from their birth, so it's not like what the religions deem it. Ah—you understand though, right?"

"Not at all, but I'll believe you."

Kenny nodded, grinning. "Well he wants you to listen to the song _Empty Apartment_ because this totally reminds him of it."

Christophe waved it off absently. "So what are you going to do now?"

"I'm going to go back to South Park, walk around like nothing happened, and visit Butters. I'll resume my life where it left off, but I'll keep an eye on you until you don't need me anymore."

"And when will zat be?"

A smile and, "You'll know."

---

Two years passed, filled with many thoughts of how it would be if he took Kenny's offer of changing back time to before Kyle and him had met in high school. His death finally calmed, the town returned to normal, and no one was too surprised by Kenny's return. He stayed with butters for several months before realizing it just wasn't working, and quickly became engaged with Red. They were happily expecting their first child in a few months.

Stan and Wendy remained high school sweethearts, still wearing their promise rings. The girl though Kenny had taken his relationship with Red a little fast, and was pleased by her pace with Stan; the Marsh boy felt a little differently, but didn't push it.

Even Eric had a girl clinging to him, some ditzy strawberry blonde he'd met in his English class. He'd learned after Kyle's death that anything could happen, and he was still left with the short stick in life. So he'd softened some, but managed to remain a dick.

Tweek and Craig reminded the only homosexual couple from South Park, who were still inseparable, and seemed more like best friends than an item. Craig made sure that Tweek lived, by doing the driving, cooking, anything that involved dangerous activity. Several nights Christophe would have them over to minimize the stress Craig had built up with cooking.

Christophe smiled to himself as he looked down at the Hebrew inscribed grave, still in the dark as to what it said. He made a habit of avoiding the place, coming around twice a year; on Kyle's birthday and their anniversary, like today. Snow glistened in a fine layer on the ground, like it did every October.

"I miss you, _cher_," he whispered to himself, tossing down the bouquet of white roses, fingering the ring he hadn't had the chance to return to Kyle, swinging on a chain around his neck.

"Everyone one if doing fine, and I'm passing all of my classes, as expected," he grinned to himself, feeling silly to be talking to a grave stone. "And of course, I'm still not wiz anyone. Every one from Souz Park seems to zink I killed yo, and zey avoid me. Ze ozers just zink I'm fucking scary."

"That isn't true, Christophe", a distinct British voice sounded behind him. He turned slowly, taking in the sight of the twenty-one year old Gregory, still as sophisticated looking as ever. He'd made no attempt to keep in contact with the blonde, preferring to ignore him then talk, although he made sure to get his check of service.

"Do you stalk me or zomezing?" Christophe managed to ask a little heatedly.

"You've been avoiding me for two years, why?"

"I'm not in ze business anymore, Gregory, leave me alone."

"I didn't expect you do be!" the blonde replied as if offended. "Is it so much to ask to keep in contact with friends, though?"

"What do you want, Greogry?" he asked with a sigh, running a hand through his untamed hair. '_Don't say what I know you're going to say…_'

"I, I love you Christophe—"

'_Damnit_.'

"—but that doesn't matter. It's been two years! You cannot possibly expect to cling onto Kyle's memory for the rest of your life. Have fun, remember the good times you had, and go on with your life."

He had to admit, Gregory was very good at being blunt and avoiding his own problems. But he did dwell on memories, reminded by a few choice songs; _Only One, Screaming Infidelities, Mad World, Je Cours, Some Say, Steller, As The World Falls Down, Changes, _and _Empty Apartment_. Each brought back some happy thought, some joyous moment locked in time.

"Per'aps et is time to move on, yes," he replied slowly, watching the blonde for any reaction. "Kyle would be pissed off if 'e knew I was making myself miserable."

"Yes, it is," Gregory replied carefully. Christophe sighed; he'd never had any sort of sexual frustration toward the Brit before, but for a fact he knew Gregory had dawdled quite a bit, and wasn't the forceful leader he had been.

_If anyone loves you, try to love them back; don't hold on too close to what is gone._ It was what Kyle wanted, wasn't it? He knew it'd happen and made sure to acknowledge it.

'_But is et being unfaithful, to memory?_'

The response was answered in the sweet voice of Kyle. _No, 'tophe, love, it's not. Be happy._

'_But…'_

_Don't argue with yourself, dude, you'll seem crazy_.

He smiled to himself, amused that his own mind would think so. As he took Gregory's hand he felt something snap, the hold he'd made on Kyle gone, and knew this was what Kenny was talking about; he no longer needed his angel, because he'd finally started a new chapter of his life.

"Show me zen, show me zat zere is more to consider, Gregory, show me zis sing you call love."

They walked off together toward the French boy's car, completely oblivious to the faint figure of the redhead perched upon his gave, smiling boldly, his voice a whisper on the mountain breeze.

"_And baby, look where we are_."

"I go back...  
To the feel of a fifty yard line  
A blanket, a girl, some raspberry wine  
I go back...  
To watchin' summer fade to fall  
Growin' up too fast and I do recall...  
I go back...  
To the loss of a real good friend  
And the sixteen summers I shared with him...  
I go back... I go back... I go back."

-"I Go Back" Kenny Chesney

* * *

Um…don't kill me? xD The lyrics may seem a bit confusing as to who is saying them this time around, since it's usually in either Christophe or Kyle's perspective; well, it's both in Kenny and Stan's retrospective. See Rei, I told you if you turn the lyrics you could knock off anyone.

Honestly, did anyone see I was going to kill Kyle? I tried to make it not obvious but…eh.

So I'll admit, this wasn't the choice ending I had planned, but I think the other would piss people off a bit more. It doesn't seem like the end, though, does it? It's supposed to be like that, since the whole thing is dedicated for the future, it was supposed to have that air that there was more to come. But, no, there is no sequel, this is it. Hah! I'm such a tease.

So here's to my reviewers, **Skampi**, **Spice of Life**, **Anime Qtie**, **rdavymac**, **KyleBroflovskiFan**, **Mistress Massacre**, **billy**, **gothic princess**, **Goddess Shimi**, **Sofa King Danny**,** Selphie Bunny**, **Pipgoboom**, and **Sandman Zane**. Special thanks to **me-ladie**, for being such a faithful widdle wife, **Bobby**, for all the fanart and just for being awesome, **Mewtow**, for slapping me into submission to finish this chapter (and advertising, hah!), and **Rei**…just because. Oh, yes, thanks to the people that never reviewed, just for reading…I know there were some people out there x3 Sadly there are no flamers that were faithful; guess they don't like people being cocky, hm?

I will be back eventually with more fics. I had planned to do a Greg/Stan one, but a Tweek/Craig one is threatening to kill me if it doesn't get done. Then I've got a oneshot I want to do…I don't know, just know you'll see me around some more in the future.

So until I get my ass in gear and write something else, bye-e!


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